


Going Home

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Speaks Spanish, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, klance, klangst, picking up after ep 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 80,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think I’m fine for now.” Keith's tongue clicks against his teeth. “Wa-was there anybody here with us? A hand touched my shoulder and something feminine spoke….”</p><p>With a worried frown and a cautious shake of his head, Lance replies with, “Sorry, we’re all alone. Just me and you.”<br/>****<br/>It all started when Keith placed his palm on that Galra control panel. It started when Lance gave him that smile--the one that could be passed off as a smirk but the look in Lance’s tired eyes gave away its true meaning. But it ends with a bang as the red and blue lion land inches away from each other on a foreign planet. It ends when the lullaby starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably a big fool for posting another multi fic when I don't even have time to work on the ones I already have. But I really wanted to post something for Voltron. So this picks up after episode 11, and will (most likely) focus only on Keith and Lance. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy:)

Blood drips from a gash on Keith’s head. It sticks to his hair and leaves red track marks across his face, marring his features. He feels the hot blood run across his skin, dripping patterns on his white armour. Every control panel sparks and crackles with its last breath; everything is fried and unusable. The scent of burnt machinery pinches his nose; he coughs. And the feeling Keith usually senses from his lion has vanished, leaving an empty, black space resonating throughout his body. One that physically hurts like he has lost a limb, one that breaks emotions he didn’t even know he was capable of expressing.

Keith’s fingers brush something hard next to him, and he realizes it’s his helmet, split in two. His head throbs in a perfect rhythm as his eyesight fades in and out, merging colors together into a perfect white light. Keith vomits on the floor as he tries to stand up. His body shudders, and bile pools on his lips, dripping to the floor. He tilts his head downward waiting for the second wave of nausea.

Outside is dark, though in his present state everything is a gray, smoky haze, and he can see the vaguely familiar shape of the blue lion and another familiar shape of Lance climbing out of it. Even from this distance, both look dead, the lion literally and Lance figuratively. Two, or maybe five, minutes pass and Lance’s body looms over Keith, standing tall while Keith continues to kneel on the metal floor, heaving because of a possible concussion. He can’t hear what Lance says, but his ears twitch in the recognition of a voice speaking. The word’s are blown away, replaced with a faint whisper of a far away lullaby as his eyes roll back into darkness.

“You’re much heavier than you look,” Lance grunts as Keith slowly blinks his eyes open and the wind lifts his bangs off of his sticky, pale forehead. Droplets of sweat run down his nose. His arm is slung over Lance’s shoulder, his hand gripping tightly onto the white and blue suite. The heat from Lance’s hand splayed over Keith’s side warms his skin as a cold sweat wracks his body in a violent shiver.

Keith throws his head back to get a better view of the world, though he can barely lift the lids hovering over his purplish gray eyes.  

This planet smells like Earth. A salty tendril of a breeze brushes lovingly across his face; a bird twitters in a nearby tree, and the sun brightens his face, its rays kissing his light skin. But he blinks again and realizes it is all a memory as darkness consumes his vision for a second time. Keith’s fully and completely awake now, and all he hears is a growl of some feral animal and Lance’s constant string of complaints about him, about this planet, about Zarkon. Keith smells a swamp-- _he_ smells like he’s been dragged through a swamp --and mud that could possibly be mistaken for shit because of the scent that perforates his nostrils. He vaguely hears Lance gagging on the smell.

Something buzzes by Keith’s ear, and he wonders if the organism resembles a fly in any way.

A scream, not from his lips, and suddenly Keith lands face first in the mud. It tastes like shit too-- and yes, sadly, he can accurately say that --, and he has a fleeting thought that the insect probably didn’t look like a fly. But probably some large eyed, pussy monster that children imagined under their beds.

“Fuck, sorry,” Lance says, helping Keith stand because his legs still wobble without support.

Both of their Paladin suites are covered if the sticky mud substance that had solidified to Keith’s skin the moment it made contact. Like a mask, it hides his expressions from Lance. The brown gunk fractures as he opens his mouth to speak for the first time. “What happened?” Keith croaks out, his words garbled and inhuman. Everything is still too fuzzy, and he feels weightless.

A lullaby whispers over the mountains of his memories, and he stumbles into Lance, on the verge of losing consciousness, _again_. But the hidden song fades as does the darkness closing around Keith’s vision.

Two vibrant blue spheres blink at him in the darkness. “Easy there.” A surprising amount of concern is laced in his voice. “But to answer your question, what didn’t happen?” Lance drags him over to a thick tree that is partially on land that is partially above the thick mud. Like a living organism, the gunk clings to his boot as Keith pushes himself against the bark. Lance flops down next to him, an exasperated sigh spilling from his lips.

“Our lions?” Keith asks, though he already knows the answer.

It’s night but Keith can’t see any stars. A starless and cloudless sky. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Lance shrugs, his shoulders brushing against Keith’s because of their close proximity. “Powerless. Stuck in this mud. Helpless. Useless like we are,” Lance adds for good measure.

“The others?” _Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Coran._ Anyone other than Lance who will, most likely, get on his nerves when Keith’s mind finally settles from its tumble.

“I-I don’t think they landed with us. If they did, probably on the other side of this planet.”

Keith bites his lip to keep in a depressing groan; his head still throbbes in protest of thought. “Do we have food and water and argh,” Keith winces from a sharp spike digging into his mind, “other necessities.” _Like shelter; shelter would be good._

“We have food if this moss is edible.” Lance rips off a pieces of the pink fuzz littering the tree propping their tired bodies up; immediately it disintegrates, flying away as dust and staining his glove a magenta-like hue.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Maybe that scary bug could be food.” A shudder rushes through Lance, and Keith honestly wonders just how ‘scary’ that bug was. Probably more on the lines of terrifying.

“So you’re a hunter now?”

“Hey! I don’t see you coming up with any ideas, Mister-I-have-a-concussion-so-I-have-to-be-carried.” Lance pretends to faint in a dramatic fashion, batting his eyes at Keith and lifting a hand to his forehead.

If only he had enough energy to whack Lance.

Keith's licks his lips, tasting salt-- whether from sweat or unsanctioned tears he does not know. All he hears is a soft voice soothing his worries. He mumbles something in a breathy whisper, “Let's deal with it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you serious?” Lance asks. “Tomorrow we could be eaten by that monster bug with the glowing eyes and the pinchers and the giant wing span.”

“Then maybe you should take first watch,” Keith snaps, fatigue already persperating on his forehead in the form of beads of sweat.

“Maybe I should!”

A hand grips Keith’s shoulder, a whisper breathes his name-- _Keith, my love_ \--, and in shock he jerks back, banging his head against the trunk. A crack fills his ears and Keith closes his eyes. When his head begins to numb with pain and the mud coating his face has fallen away in chunks, he reopens his eyes. Lance is kneeling, his face inches above Keith. A long, red gash cuts across the skin under Lance’s right eye that Keith didn’t notice before. He didn't notice the black bruises decorating his skin or his tired blue eyes that look just as worn out as Keith’s. His brown hair sticks together in clumps, the mud acting as glue.

Lance’s breath tickles his face as he speaks, “Are you okay, man? I thought I lost you for a couple of minutes.” Keith notices an unshed tear into the corner of Lance’s eye, and he wonders how close to death he actually was.

“I think I’m fine for now.” His tongue clicks against his teeth. “Wa-was there anybody here with us? A hand touched my shoulder and something feminine spoke….”

With a worried frown and a cautious shake of his head, Lance replies with, “Sorry, we’re all alone. Just you and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I have a full outline before I start posting my fics, but this was such a spur of the moment decision, that I really have no idea what to add (besides my bigger plot points). Any ideas of what you want to see are appreciated!
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos:)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and everything else!!! It made me so happy:D

There’s this dream Keith has every once in awhile. It starts in a dark hallway, slowly being engulfed in this bright white light. He tries to move on the white tiled floor, but he can never command his muscles to do anything. Usually, this is where the dream peaks and soon comes to an end. Usually, Keith stares at the brightening light until he wakes.

Tonight’s dream is filled with a lullaby. Tonight’s dream is filled with two shadowed figures, too far away to make out their features. Too far away to touch. In tonight’s dream, Keith is able to run to them, but before his fingers can brush their dusky shadows, his mind drops him into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Keith wakes up fully, he tries to recall the memory of his dream, but like the shadowy figures he has a faint recollection of, it eludes him. But he doesn’t dwell on it long and fills his mind’s silence by rubbing the sleep from his eyes and taking in his surroundings. 

He notices the planet is close to two suns that, unfortunately for the two of them, shine bright in the sky, even for this early in the morning. It’s already too hot for comfort and many somethings click and clack in the woods behind him. The mud on the ground from the night before has dried into solid, but slightly cracked, ground. Keith scrubs the rest of the gunk off of his face and moves around his jaw, trying to work out the stiffness. He’s already sweating, his hair already sticking to his neck and curling in response to the heat. He finds a forgotten hair tie on his wrist, pulling his longer black locks into a ponytail. 

And for the first time, Keith realizes he’s alone. “Lance!” Keith yells, quickly scrambling up, feeling a hundred percent better than yesterday. The haze around his eyes has disappeared and his head is finally calm. Though as his fingers scratch across his scalp, he grits his teeth as the wound is still tender. But all symptoms of a concussion seem to have vanished.

Something brushes by his foot, slithering away into the dirt a couple inches away; Keith tries not to screech while jumping away. “Lance!” he screams louder. And soon branches snap and leaves rustle. Keith hears the pounding of footsteps from behind him; Lance stumbles out from behind the brush. Jagged, broken leaves of every color-- purple, blue, red, and green --stick in his hair; dried blood from yesterday covers the skin underneath his eyes. The gash from before has closed up. 

“Sorry, Keith. But hey, I think I found water.” Lance holds up a makeshift bowl, a hollowed out rock, containing murky, foul looking liquid. 

Keith cautiously steps forward. “Please tell me you didn’t drink this.”

“No. I was hoping you would first, so then I would know if it was safe or not,” Lance says, smirking.

He glares. “Very funny. But I’m not drinking that filth.”

Lance looks down at his treasure, bringing the bowl close to his lips. His nose twitches. “It smells sweet though.” And he thrusts it under Keith’s nose. 

The scent of fruit overwhelms his mind, ripe cantaloupe, pineapple, peaches. Summertime fruit with its sticky juices dripping down his chin. He licks his lips. “I guess it won’t be that bad.”  _ It’s the only thing we have, anyways.  _

Before Lance can protest-- _I was joking; you don’t really have to --_ the surprisingly crisp liquid slides down his throat, somehow warming his insides and settling his rumbling stomach. It tastes like fruit too; sweet, sour, and tart. Perfection swirls in his mouth as he takes one more tiny sip. 

“Try it, Lance,” Keith says, wiping his mouth. “It fills you up too.”

There is barely anything left in the rock thanks to Keith, but Lance drinks every last bit. Moaning as he gulps it down. 

“Wow, that’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Maybe better than the food  _ mamá _ cooks. I never knew liquid chocolate chip cookies could taste so good.”

“Cookies?” Keith questions, “It tasted like fruit to me.”

They both stare at the last drop of the liquid that had been accidently spared. It stares mockingly up at them from the bottom of the rock. It glimmers in the sun, appearing dark and mysterious.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have drank it…”

Lance throws the rock bowl behind him. “Well if one of us starts to hallucinate, we’ll know it wasn’t safe.”

“That’s great, Lance. And maybe if one of us  _ dies _ , then we’ll  _ really  _ know we shouldn’t have drank it,” Keith deadpans, frowning. But the flavor of the liquid still coats his tongue and he tries to savor it for as long as he can. 

“It doesn’t matter now anyways. We’re not hungry; we’re not thirsty. I think it’s time to explore a little bit.” Lance scratches his head and spins, trying to decide what direction to walk in.

Keith looks behind him and can just barely make out two big metal shapes. “We shouldn’t venture too far away from the lions.”

Lance sighs, “We both know they're of no use anymore, not unless we can find Pidge to fix them.”  

“Well, that’s impossible at the moment.” Keith groans. “I guess we should wander that way,” he says, pointing past Lance where there seems to be a semblance of a path. 

Too tired to argue, Lance just shrugs, obviously content with the plan. Their Paladin armor falls to the ground; dust puffs up, creating a thin brown layer on their clothes. They keep their Bayards for protection. Keith pulls at the collar of his black shirt as sweat continues to soak through his body. 

Lance stares at the pile of armor and then tilts his head up to look mournfully at his blue lion in the distance. “I guess it’s time to go.”

Something tickles at Keith’s ears as they leave, and a sudden breeze starts to whip through the trees, carrying the lullaby from his dream, welcoming Keith home. 

* * *

“I think we should dub this planet Tatooine,” Lance says, penetrating the perfect silence.

Keith rolls his eyes and then silently laughs. Lance seems to be a sucker for the classics, though Keith shouldn’t be one to talk. “No. Yes, you do have the twin suns, but Tatooine is a fucking  _ desert _ . This planet is not, quite the opposite, and I should know since I lived in a desert for a year.”

“Ah, yes, your shack,” Lance muses; he cuts his eyes to Keith. “And how did that work out for you?”   


Keith crosses his arms, quickening his pace to be a couple steps ahead of Lance. He turns around before he talks, stopping Lance in his tracks. “Quite well, actually. Since I found  _ your  _ lion.” Keith raises an eyebrow, daring Lance to respond with a snide comment.  

Instead, Lance grabs hold of Keith and throws him to the ground behind a set of bushes; Lance follows. With a mouth full of dirt, Keith manages to mumble, “What the hell was that for?”

Lance places a finger on Keith’s lips; his blue eyes plead for him to be quiet. A sharp, stinging buzz fills the air, drowning out all sounds of Lance’s and Keith’s rapid heartbeats and heavy breathing. It cuts into their ears, but neither of them want to cry out in pain. Keith closes his eyes, and imagines he’s in a spacious apartment instead. The walls are decorated with strange paintings of unknown landscapes, weird shaped trees hovering over a green tinted lake. Various toys litter the floor. And a soft voice full of love, from what he assumes is the kitchen, floats around his ears, disguising the buzzing and alleviating his pain.  

But the vision quickly fades away as does the noise that caused Keith to shut his eyes to begin with. When he opens them, he finds Lance already scrambling to his feet and stretches out a hand to Keith. He gladly takes it as he stumbles to find his footing. 

“That was one gigantic insect,” begins Lance, brushing dirt off of his ripped clothes. “I hate this shitty planet.”

Lance’s words are muffled, but Keith has to agree and nods to support his companion’s statement. He tentatively brings a finger up to his ear, quickly pulling it back when something wet coats the pads of his fingers. Maroon blood colors his pale skin. Lance has two dark red lines coming out of his ears as well.

The world around him is muffled, and his ears strain to hear even the quietest of movements. 

“We have to keep moving, find shelter,” Keith yells, hoping Lance can hear him even though he can barely hear himself. 

“Okay!” Lance screams, causing Keith to winch with his sensitive hearing.  

“A little quieter next time, okay Lance? How ‘bout we just don’t talk to each other for a little bit?”

No words pass between the two as they continue walking. The twin suns are directly in the center of the purpling sky, one a bright white and the other a deep orange, both sending uncomfortable rays of sun down on the planet. Keith’s skin is warm to the touch and he has to wonder how red he is. He reties his hair and slicks back his bangs that stick to his face, obscuring his view.   

Lance, who is no stranger to warmer temperatures, looks just as uncomfortable. He tied his shirt around his head, to protect the skin on his face. His bare chest glimmers with sweat, and Keith has to look away because he swears Lance’s skin sparkles as it absorbs the sunlight. 

Keith’s feet act like two lead bricks; he can barely stay upright on his feet and his stomach has started to gurgle again. His mouth is sandpaper. It hurts to swallow. Their scenery has moved from the dense forest-- and all that shade --to the boring view of a vast plain, where the grass is more yellow and straw like than Earth’s. The longer blades scratch at him through his clothes. 

They’ve been walking for hours.

Suddenly, Keith shadows his eyes with his hand and frowns. “Lance,” he rasps. He swallows trying to bring back his voice. “Is that a cliff?”

Lance takes a second to respond, licking his dry lips. “Fuck. It is. Uhh, what are we going to do now? I guess the only way is left or right.”

And Keith swings his head in both directions, each looks equally barren and endless. But a flash of light catches Keith’s eyes; it calls up all the remaining energy inside of him. He runs, forcing his cramping legs to move. He runs until there is barely any ground left in front of him. And Keith’s mouth drops open in shock.

_ “ Dios mío _ _!"_  Lance exclaims, slipping into Spanish, as he steadily jogs to reach him. But Keith easily understands. 

Far below them spans a valley, and in the valley is a domed city.  With honeycombed ceiling tiles and towering skyscrapers. The city spans miles in either direction. Sparkling clean, refreshing rivers run through the city. Keith can clearly see transport ships flying in and out of the domed structure. These ships were dark blots in the blue purplish sky from where the two were originally walking. Far away they bear some, but now up close very little, resemblance to those giant insects occupying the planet. 

“You don’t think we’re hallucinating, do you Lance?” Keith’s eyes are locked onto the structure.

“If you’re seeing exactly what I’m seeing,” Lance says, “then I don’t think so.”  

He’s mesmerized by their savior; his stomach rumbles and his legs are on the verge of collapsing. Keith takes a breath. “Then we need to find a way dow-”

“Hands up, both of you,” a deep and rough voice cuts in. The voice floats into their minds from behind, and Keith’s ears twitch as he hears the unmistakable sound of the safety clicking off a gun, off multiple guns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked the chapter:) This story is starting to take shape, and I can't wait to write more of it.
> 
> Side note: Lance will probably be speaking Spanish from time to time, so if I ever get any grammer wrong, please feel free to tell me:) 
> 
> Dios mío= My God
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thank you all so much for the kudos and comments and everything:)
> 
> Sorry that this chapter is a little late (I've been creating a certian character and backstory for this fic), but anyways, here's a new chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit 9/6 and 9/22: I fixed Lance's Spanish. A big thanks to PenPistola and Eldoriito for pointing it out.

Keith slowly raises his hands, his limbs arguing and protesting as he lifts them higher, and he gently nudges with his hip for Lance to do the same. When they turn, they find a little more than ten guns pointed at them. And behind each glistening gun, stands a figure. The group of locals are made up of about an equal amount of men and women-- well, Keith assumes that’s their gender. All of them have scarves covering their heads from the harsh sun; protective, round glasses hang from black strings looped around their necks, and everyone of them is wearing a similar outfit, a uniform of some sort made up of pastel greens and beiges that blend in with the landscape around them. These locals look human--  which is a huge sigh of relief for Keith, because honestly he was expecting bug people --but their eyes ruin that image.

Every color he can think of blinks back at him, except for blue. Blood red, leafy green, dark purple, neon pink, obsidian black. He sees bright orange eyes on a woman with dark skin and a permanent frown. She pushes her way up to them and unclips their Bayards from their belts. An older gentleman with deep laughter lines, who must have first spoken to them, does not react, but simply nods.

The woman turns back to the group, and with a stern voice says, “Are you all idiots? You waited this long to disarm them; you’re all a disgrace, cadets.”

A young man pipes up from the front, sandy blonde hair peeking out from his equally sandy colored scarf, “We didn’t know those things were weapons, ma’am.”

“An opportunity to learn a new lesson then,” the lady replies swinging her unique eyes back and forth. “If you see odd people not from this planet out and about, and they have odd things on their person, it is safe to assume that the object in question is a weapon and should be taken right away.”

It takes Keith a couple of blinks to realize they’ve been caught in some sort of training exercise and were probably an unexpected surprise for everybody involved in the operation. It takes a couple more blinks, as fatigue starts to set in and Keith visibly sees his legs trembling, to realize Lance is whispering in his ear, lips surprisingly close to his skin.

“They’re not Galra, obviously, but they’re not using Galra tech.”

The blasters ominously pointed at them are nothing more than high tech laser guns. They’re black and sleek looking, and a neon green stripe runs the length of the barrel. He’s never seen anything like it before.   

Lance's breath tickles his ear, "which could mean we've stumbled upon a free planet and people," he conculdes

“Can anyone tell me who we’ve captured err.. found?” The woman’s voice becomes the focus of Keith’s mind once again. But he has to smile slightly at Lance's observation; maybe they're not in as much danger as Keith originally thought.

A girl, no more than fifteen with dark red eyes, moves to the front. “Ma’am,” she says, tapping her feet together. “They’re not Tazeron.”

“And how can you tell, Cadet Hunter?”

“Ma’am, the color blue has never been seen in our population since the Great Exodus. But the black haired one seems to support an odd combination of gray and purple. He could possibly be a half breed though it’s highly unlikely.” She shrugs, as if unsure of herself, and continues to stare at Keith, a light shade of pink coloring her cheeks.

Keith casts a sideways glance to Lance, who looks as perplexed as Keith feels.

“And your conclusion,” the orange eyed woman prompts.

“They’re the pilots from the metal beings that fell from the sky.”

Keith grits his teeth, eyes narrowing in concentration; he hopes both lions weren’t harmed by the natives. Without his permission his mind conjures up images of Red pillaged, metal plating missing, wires cut, equipment torn out of the beast. In his mind, his lion whimpers in pain. But Keith shakes his head, dispersing the images he knows are purely fantasy.

One of the cadets raises his gun at Keith’s quick and small movement. The older man places a hand on the kid’s shoulder, who quickly relaxes his body and loosens his grip on the gun while lowering it cautiously.

Before the older woman can speak up, Lance opens his mouth, “Look, ma’am, we’re just lost travelers that are very hungry, thirsty, and tired. And if you don’t help us _right now_ , I think we’re both going to collapse from heat exhaustion.”

The words are like magic; as soon as Lance finishes speaking, Keith’s legs fold in on themselves, and he is sprawled on the ground. Lance isn’t far behind. His vision fades to black and is only awoken by the bright, unforgiving sun and brisk water being splashed onto his fevered skin. Droplets run across his face like tears. Worried orange eyes and curly brown hair fill his vision.

“Are you okay?” The lady politely asks, as if she hadn’t just been pointing a gun at them.  

His dry mouth pops open to speak, “I-I don’t think so,” he rasps.

“You seem to be faring better than your friend.” The woman tilts his head to see Lance unconscious and with a couple of cadets surrounding him, working efficiently to cool him down with water and freezing cold canisters placed against his body.

“I’m Commander Sandra,” she continues, “We’ll grant you passage to our city because both of you need medical attention, but you’ll be placed under heavy guard.”

Before Keith’s eyes can roll back as he begins to slip into unconsciousness, he replies, “Thank you… Sandra.”

* * *

When Keith blinks his eyes open and tilts his head, lifting it off the worn pillow, he finds himself dressed in baby blue scrubs. His original clothes, which were dirty and torn, have been, presumably, thrown away; he rubs the soft cotton-like fabric between his finger. And his mind catches onto a fleeting thought, he feels clean; sweat no longer coats his body like a second skin. And as he cards his hand through his long black hair, he no longer seethes at the feeling of grease or picks up any particles of mud in his fingernails.

The white linen sheets are rumpled around his body, forming canyons and mountains in the wrinkles, and the pillow now lies askew, hanging halfway off the small cot. Like his repeating dream, everything in this room is white. White lights, white paint, white furniture-- which sparsely consists of a desk and chair and cot--, white linen, and white tiles. Which are freezing as his feet drop to the ground from the warm sheets.

Keith is the only splash of color in the whole room.

He pads his way over to the far corner of his square room-- could he call it a cell? Most likely, his mind grumbles. The desk, he discovers as his lips slip into a frown, has no draws nor any writing utensils, which has Keith questioning why it’s even here in the first place. Unless the desk isn’t a desk after all but a table to eat on when and if they deliver food.

Content with his musings, Keith proceeds to glide his hands across the surprisingly glossy walls, searching for any door and any possible means of escape. But every wall is seamless; Keith groans plopping himself back onto the bed.

Seconds, minutes, hours later-- Keith is not sure because when you stare at an unblemished white ceiling, your eyes start to glaze over, and you begin to lose all sense of time, a lesson learned in his shack --a large panel, large enough for a tall person to walk through without hunching over, opens on the adjacent wall. Keith bolts upwards as Lance stumbles in right after, clean and wearing the same cotton clothes as him.

Keith’s heart, racing from the thought of immediate danger, subsides. He lazily blinks.“Oh, good, it’s you.”

Lance snaps his head up; his dark blue eyes blazing in unsanctioned furry. “At least _I_ found you,” Lance mumbles crisply, brushing imaginary dust off of his pants. His lips pull back, sneering. “And thanks for seeming concerned about my disappearance,” his gaze darting over Keith’s relaxed form on top of the cot

“I _was_ concerned,” Keith argues, waving his hands, “I just couldn’t do anything about it. Did you expect me to walk through walls?”

“Yes!”

 _Why, why the hell did I get stuck with_ you _as my companion,_ is what Keith wants to angrily scream at Lance. Keith’s eyes narrow into a glare as he begins to conjure up a sarcastic remark. But the invisible panel slides open once again and he swallows the comment.

In steps a woman with a red collared shirt and black pants. A white circular symbol with a small arrow decorates the corner of her top; Keith has no idea what it stands for, but as he slowly notices she carries a tray pressed tight against her body with needles in plastic and tubes and gauze-like material, he has to assume she is some sort of doctor. Her dirty blond hair is tightly pulled away from her face into a uniformed bun, leaving her eyes uncovered. Apparently some people even have heterochromia as the doctor blinks back at them with one magenta eye and one ruby red eye. Her eyes dare them to try anything and she quietly snarls when Keith steps forward.

"What do you want with us?” Keith has to ask as he silently wanders towards Lance and away from the lady with the unsettling looking equipment.

The woman rolls up her long sleeves and slips on a pair of white gloves; a sickening snap echos through the cell. “I’m not at liberty to answer any of your questions,” she says monotonously, picking up a needle and ripping off the plastic, crumpling it in her fist.

Narrowing his eyes, Keith responds with, “Can you at least tell me why you threw him in here?” He looks directly at Lance who innocently shrugs.

“That one,” the woman says, pointing an accusing finger at Lance, “has been driving us all up a wall with his screaming. He wouldn’t shut up until we brought him to you.” Her gaze now lands on Keith, and it’s not kind.

Lance crosses his arms, a smug grin blooming. “See, Keith, there are some things you can do.”

Any reply from Keith is again interrupted by the woman’s impatient sigh and snapping of her fingers. With their attention concentrated on each other rather than the woman with the sharp needle, she hurries over to them, grabbing Lance’s arm in a bruising grip. Her slightly taller frame towers over him. “You’re going first, young one. What were you telling us earlier? _Vete_   _al diablo_? Whatever that means, I’m sure it wasn’t kind.” Her thick voice butchers the Spanish.

“Wha- what are you doing?” Lance asks trying to retract his arm.

“Taking an ichor sample,” the doctor replies. She wipes the inside of his elbow, probes for a vein, and sticks in the needle, before either of them can protest. The tube fills with dark maroon blood, and Keith watches with fascination before he realizes the woman is grabbing onto his arm now, her rubber gloves harshly squeezing his skin.

Her multicolored eyes are slitted as she presses a new needle deep into the crook of Keith’s elbow. He winches at the sharp sting of the needle’s entrance. His own blood comes out in a thick stream, and he swallows.

Lance’s fingers press a small square of white cloth to his elbow. “Why are you doing this now?” Lance speaks, turning his gaze away from Keith and to the doctor. “You could have done this while we were asleep or while you were fixing us up.”

The woman clicks her tongue as she pulls out Keith’s needle. “We have found that with our physiology it’s best to take ichor when the patient is awake and healthy for the best analyzing results.”

“And why,” Keith finally speaks, “are you so interested in us?”

“As I said before-” the woman plasters on a crude smile “-I am not at liberty to say.” The doctor gathers up her supplies-- the two red tubes bump into each other as they roll dangerously close to the end of the tray --and before she steps out of the cell she turns back towards the two. “Rest. Commander Sandra will be back later with your results. And for your sake, I hope they’re what we’re looking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is starting in less than 9 days so I'm not sure how soon I can update, but I'm really excited for you to see what I have planned.
> 
> In case it's a little confusing, Tazeron is the name of the race of people Keith and Lance have stumbled upon. And ichor is just their term for blood
> 
> Translation:  
> Vete al diablo- Go to hell/the devil! 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100+ kudos, almost 50 subscribers! You're the best; thank you so much:D
> 
> And to celebrate, here's Lance's pov
> 
> Edit 9/6: I have fixed Lance's Spanish. A big thanks to PenPistola for pointing it out.

“Five days,” Lance voices, picking at a loose blue thread.

Keith groans, “No it hasn’t been five days since we woke up here. More like one or two, I don't know the exact number.”

“I meant since we crashed, dumbass.” Lance proceeds to kick the white wall, quite content with the pinging sound that follows. The skin around the area where the doctor had punctured him is bruised. A tiny patch of yellow and purple covering his brown skin.

“Stop that.”

“What?” Lance asks, continuing to kick the wall.

Keith’s dark eyes are shadowed by the fringe of his black hair. “You heard me. And that noise is fucking annoying.”

Lance tilts his head, smirking. “Make me.” And a ping resonates throughout their cell again.

Keith’s feet land with a soft plop, as he arches body to stretch, preparing to stand. Two more pings echo throughout their cell by the time Keith grabs onto Lance’s shoulder, forcefully spinning him around. Lance cocks his head, raising an eyebrow.  

“You know, I thought we were getting along before,” Keith says to Lance unexpectedly. Lance’s mouth pops open in thought.

He shrugs his shoulders, dropping his head. Because the truth was when they were still all together as a team, they _had_ become friends. “Sorry,” Lance starts off wanting to be sincere but sarcasm soon trickles into his voice. “I’m just a little pissed that we could be stuck on this planet for forever or could possibly die in the next couple of minutes.”

“You say that like it’s my fault,” Keith grounds out, his head arching up, filling Lance’s vision.

“I never said it was. But by all means, if you want to take the blame…”

“Lance.”

And suddenly Keith’s gray eyes are the only thing Lance can see as their noses bump and eyes narrow in confrontation. He can see the mysterious flecks of the different shades of purple swimming in the gray sea. Mesmerized, his eyes stay open, as their impromptu staring contest continues, both unknowingly lost in each other’s eyes. Before Lance becomes distracted by the panel opening, he swears he sees a brief flash, a speck of yellow, hidden in the gray. But when Lance blinks, it’s gone.

That commander lady from earlier walks through the door, shooing away the broad shouldered guards that follow behind her. She sets her bright orange eyes on them immediately, an eyebrow raised, and color quickly rises to Lance’s cheeks as he hurriedly slides away from Keith, who looks just as uncomfortable.

“I’m Commander Sandra,” she says half heartedly, appearing more amused by their antics than their results as her eyes glaze over a couple of papers fastened to a clipboard.

Clipboard, blasters, futuristic cells, domed cities, simple medical tools. It baffles Lance that this society can be more advanced than Earth and less advanced than Earth at the same time.

“Well this should be good news for both of you. You have nothing to fear from us, and you’ll be released after we have a little talk.” Sandra plops herself in the lone chair as they continue to stand.

“Thank you,” Keith replies, tilting his shoulders slightly.

Sandra snorts and flips a page. “Don’t thank me, thank your test results.” Surprisingly, she points to Keith, who widens his eyes in shock, his jaw dropping. “You, young ma-”

“It’s Keith,” he cuts in, “and my friend here is Lance.”

“Okay, Keith, well your test results told us that you are in fact half Tazeron. We’re not sure what your other half is. The results became fuzzy after that. But I’d say it’s probably whatever species Lance is; surprisingly, his test results didn’t show up in our database either.”

Keith cocks his head to the side as Lance stays speechless. Keith’s not human, at least not completely human, Lance reiterates inside his head, well he should have seen it coming. Because who styles their hair in a mullet in this day and age, Lance continues musing to himself with a silent chuckle.

“I don’t understand,” Keith begins, “I mean I never knew my parents. I just assumed they died right after I was born, since I was in foster care my whole life. But then how did I come to be on Earth? I-”

“Keith, I don’t have those answers for you. I… uh couldn’t even begin to guess why you were sent halfway across this galaxy, far away from your home planet.”

He opens his mouth to speak, “Wait, does this mean my mother or father might still be alive and here on this planet?”

A hopeful spark glimmers in his gray eyes. It stays long enough for Lance to time its coming and passing; it stays long enough for Lance to realize he has been staring at Keith. But the other boy never notices. Lance cuts his blue eyes towards Sandra instead, narrowing them as he watches her gulp and gaze at the floor. Suspicion surges inside of him.

“No,” she says, “Your ichor did not match up with any living Tazeron.”     

Keith’s shoulders slump. “Oh.” With that one word, he does a terrible job of holding back his emotions. He sounds destroyed.

Lance keeps a dark blue eye on his companion as he addresses Sandra for the first time. “What do we do now?”

The legs of the chair screech across the floor as the commander begins to stand. “Well, since Keith is technically Tazeron, he has an automatic citizenship and is free to go. And since we have nothing to hold you here, Lance, you can go too.”

The panel in the wall opens for the last time, and Sandra gestures for them to walk out. Lance repeatedly blinks his eyes as uses a hand to shield against the bright lights lining the long hallway. It goes in both directions, branching off at several points, and Lance watches with rapt attention as various Tazerons wander about their daily business. Not spearing them a glance.

“Wait,” Lance begins, watching a child in a wheelchair being pushed by a doctor, “This wasn’t a cell.”

Sandra bursts out in a hearty laugh. “No, we knew you weren’t dangerous. You’ve been in a recovery room this whole time.”

“Oh, I thought that was too nice for a cell,” Lance mumbles to himself, as the beefy guards lead them down one end of the hallway.

Keith, who’d been keeping pace with Lance slowly drifts back to Sandra. “Where can we get some new clothes?”

Lance nods his head, agreeing with the question. The scrubs had been scratching at his sensitive skin. “We set aside generic Tazeron outfits for you to pick from; the clothes you came in were unsalvageable,” Sandra responds easily.

There’s a room off the main hallway, illuminated in low lighting, with racks of clothes and shoes of every type. A tall mirror hangs in front of Lance, showing off his messy hair, baggy eyes, and sagging posture. Keith beside him doesn’t look any better, not that Lane is specifically staring at Keith or anything. Because that would be crazy, right?

“Changing rooms are through both of those doors,” Sandra says, pointing in two different directions. “We’ll come for you in a few minutes.”

“Uhh, any chance of us getting our weapons back?” Keith pipes up, pushing a hand through his thick hair.

“Not a chance,” and Sandra shuts the door behind her.

Lance is beyond ecstatic to see that ‘generic Tazeron clothes’ are nothing more than clothes worn on Earth. He picks up a light gray long sleeve shirt and slides his legs into jeans, or something that is very similar to jeans. He spies a navy blue sweatshirt hanging on the rack and selects that too.

Keith, unsurprisingly, found a red T-shirt and dark colored pants. And his hair is tied into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. Lance struggles to not roll his eyes. He also struggles not sputter and blush when he notices the red shirt is quite tight, hugging Keith’s muscles.

“What?” Keith asks, raising his arms, finally acknowledging Lance’s uncommon staring.

“ _Eres muy guapo_.” Lance isn’t ashamed to admit it.

Crossing his arms, Keith says, “That better not have been an insult.”

Lance’s lips tilt into a half smirk half grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

They’re escorted out of the medical center by the two beefy guards, that now Lance realizes one is actually a woman with very short black hair. “No Sandra?” Lance questions hesitantly, as the guards lead them down the many steps out of the building and to the sidewalk.

The city is before them as many Tazerons walk to and fro, use old fashioned Earth-like cars, or simply chat, resting on scattered benches. Lance can barely see the dome from this far down on the ground. But even with the city enclosed, he can’t smell any gasoline coming from the cars, only a sweet blossom scent of early spring. There is still a faint breeze coming from somewhere, lifting the ends of his hair and his jacket.  

“ _Commander_ Sandra,” the female guard replies, “has other important duties. We’ll walk you to the end of the street and you can find your way from there.”

“How generous,” Keith mumbles.

“You should show her some respect, filthy half breed.” The male guard punches Keith in the shoulder with the barrel of his blaster.

“What did you say?” Lance questions in a serious tone over the outcry from the female guard.

His furious gaze lands on the forest green eyes of the older man. The one with a five o’clock shadow on his chin, a thin silver scar running across his right cheek bone, and an ugly scowl marring his feature. Red hair sticks out from his helmet.

“I said your friend was a filthy half breed.” The guard spits; the white splotch lands close to Keith’s black boots.

“Come on, Lance, it’s fine,” Keith tries, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“No!” Lance grinds his teeth. “Only I can insult Keith, and I would _never_ make fun of his family. You take that back.”

“I’m not taking anything back.”

A perfect punch cracks the guard’s nose, blood splattering on the back of Lance’s knuckles. Before the female guard or Keith can restrain him, he kicks the man’s stomach, the force of it splitting a rib. And the guard falls to his knees, blood dripping patterns onto the gray concrete. The man wheezes, preparing to raise his arms in an attack, but Lance swings his leg out, catching the green eyed man off balance. The thud of the guard hitting the ground reawakens Lance from his sort of trance. When he swivels his gaze around, all he can see is Keith and the other pedestrians gaping as they watch the spectacle.

“That female guard went to get the cops, Lance. We have to go now.”

Keith grabs onto Lance’s already swelling hand as he pushes through the crowd, apologizing as he goes. They stagger across the road, avoiding cars and ignoring the colorful swearing as the drivers press on their horns. They land on the sidewalk when Lance immediately notices an escape as he blinks the rest of the haze away from his mind. Though unnoticed by both, their hands stay intertwined.

He points to a car parked by the sidewalk, keys swinging in the ignition and no owner in sight. “Lance no,” Keith says automatically upon seeing the black, expensive looking car.

“Lance yes.” And he runs to the driver’s side, but Keith pushes past him, barreling into the seat first.

“Asshole,” Lance calls Keith, preparing to drag him out of the driver’s seat. But they’re both startled as they hear the low whining sound of what must be cop cars, and Lane hastily runs to the passenger’s side.

Keith grips onto the jangling keys-- the owner of the car clipped a keychain of a dark purple flower on the ring --and turns; the engine sparks then dies. Lance watches with fascination as Keith struggles with the controls of the old fashioned Earth car, grunting and groaning every time he fails.

“Have you ever driven one of these before?” Lance’s _padre_ had made sure he was educated in all sorts of vehicles, even an outdated car. It was something Lance was proud to say he got the hang of right away.

“Shut up, Lance.”

“Move aside; I’ll show you how it’s done.” They climb over each other to get to their new seats. Lance twists the keys, and his right foot presses hard on the gas as his hand yanks down the parking brake. In no time the car roars to life and they’re speeding away, tire marks scratched into the tar surface. His hands grip leather of the steering wheel, power coursing through him.

Lance cackles with glee as he weaves them in and out of traffic; Keith on the other has gone green and holds onto his seat, sheer terror in his eyes. “Lance! Watch out!” The perfect paint of the left side of the car may slightly scrape as Lance _successfully_ swerves away from a cat-like creature and into a trash bin as they veer down a substantially less busy road.

“Lance!” Keith screams again, but Lance ignores him, continuing to fill the interior of the car with his laughter.

* * *

The Tazeron cops still have their guns pointed on the two by the time Sandra arrives at the scene of the stolen car and the two idiots that got caught with it. Lance is no longer laughing, and the green pallor of Keith’s light skin has all but faded.

Her furious face sets the mood of the scene, and Lance has the audacity to plaster on a pleasant smile. Sandra crosses her arms. “What the hell did you two do? Causing trouble already, unbelievable.” She shakes her head.

The commander lady scolds them like the mother Lance desperately misses. The frustration in her orange eyes never breaks as she begins speaking to the cops in a straightforward tone with no room for arguing. After raising her voice, though Lance can not hear what is being said, and one of police officers taking a startled step back, Sandra walks over to them, her eyes just as bold as before.

“I'm in charge of you two now; you’ll live with me.”

Keith lets out a sigh of relief; though the thought was never spoken aloud, neither him nor Lance wanted to sleep on the streets in a foreign place, once they had outran the police of course. “But on one condition,” Sandra interjects before they can speak, “you will work at the man’s shop, without pay, for stealing and damaging his car. You start the day after tomorrow.”

And Lance spots an unkind glare from an older gentleman among the many cops.

The walk to her apartment is long. Lance occupies himself with a shoving contest with Keith. A hard shove from Keith’s shoulder has Lance balancing on one leg over the curb, teetering on the edge. A hard smile from Keith tells Lance it’s payback. He begins to gather his strength for a return attack when an angry grunt from Sandra quells him and he slumps his shoulders, walking silently beside Keith.

“There is a slight problem,” Sandra says, speaking softly, as she leads them up crumbling concrete steps to a two story building. “I only have two bedrooms.”

A small, oddly shaped green key rattles as Sandra pushes it into the door handle with a sharp ping and click. The wooden door swings open automatically. Lance still has not recovered the use of his voice from the ‘only two beds’ comment. By the tick of Keith’s jaw, neither has he.

Sandra stretches her arms, gesturing to the spacious kitchen plus seating area and a small hallway, hopefully leading to the bathroom and bedrooms. “Welcome to your new home for the foreseeable future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the cliche sharing the bed trope;) And I think you can guess what Keith's other half is, if you read the tags...
> 
> I'm not sure what year Voltron is set in, so I’m assuming it’s far into the future where cars are pretty much obsolete. 
> 
> Translation:  
> Eres muy guapo- you're really handsome


	5. Chapter 5

Keith has rolled to the far edge of the mattress in his last attempt to flee Lance’s wandering limbs. The boy takes up most of the two person mattress, his hand lying flat on Keith’s pillow and his right foot dangerously tickling Keith’s leg. So he hangs off the mattress, content with staring at the ceiling and not being able to sleep tonight. 

As his head slowly sinks into the soft foam of the pillow, his mind is occupied with one thought: he could’ve had some sort of family on this planet. But like usual, it was taken away from Keith before he even knew it was there.

The shades do a poor job of expelling light, and beams from passing cars and street lights covertly find their way into the bedroom, casting shadows on objects to create monsters. 

His eyes lazily trace the cracked ceiling, running the length of a chasm that spans from one wall to the other. With Keith’s eyes glazing over, he is suddenly being held in somebody else's arms, their warmth spreading into his core.  

A wisp of dark hair brushes his cheek as someone whispers into his ear. “I bet you’ll have your daddy’s piloting skills, little one.”

As a baby with no vocal control, all Keith can manage is a happy gurgle. His undeveloped mind not comprehending the words. This woman-- his mother? The thought blinks Keith out of the memory. Lance has now moved his full body over, latching onto Keith’s side like a leech, his warm breathes passing into Keith’s ear as Lance snuggles closer to him.

Trying to ignore the attached body, Keith watches the movement of light leaking through the curtain. One car passes with a screech; a couple minutes later another car hums along the road, its bright lights catching the frown on Keith’s face before it is consumed by the darkness.

And suddenly his eyes glaze over once again.

He’s being bounced this time, mesmerized by the ups and downs of his mother’s knee. He bangs a rattle against his knuckles, and laughs when it springs to life with beeps and whistles. Blues and reds and purples flicker across the top of the toy; Keith tries to catch them with his fingers. Trying to trap them. But the colors flash on and off, unaffected.

“I want to travel, little sister. I want to see if I can find him,” comes his mother’s calm voice. There’s a melody to her words, as if she sings every line. 

His ears don’t catch the rebuttal, his mind still captured by the simple toy.

Keith’s mother speaks again, “It’s been a year since I’ve seen him. I  _ want  _ him to see his son.”

A rustling of skirts follows, and he’s being placed on the ground, alone, as his mother stands to talk with the other adult.

“Do what you must,” says another female voice that resonates in Keith’s ears, causing him to divert attention from the toy to the shadowed adults, wanting to hear more.

But suddenly Keith’s eyes snap open as his body vaults off the bed and he lands with a thump on the hardwood floor.

* * *

“I said I was sorry!” Lance grumbles over a bowl of goop that was breakfast.

Keith stares unhappily at the bowl of what could possibly be steaming porridge. Sandra said it was healthy. Keith wants to say it’s gross. “You kicked me out of bed!”

Lance points his bronze spoon at him. “It’s not my fault I can’t control my body’s actions at night.”

“Maybe you should sleep on the floor tonight then.”

“Maybe  _ you  _ should sleep on the floor.”

“Maybe both of you should shut up and eat!” Sandra angrily yells over the bickering, rubbing her temples as she leans against the kitchen counter. “Helna, you guys are annoying. 

Keith grumbles into his bowl of goop, watching the thick, beige substance slowly inch its way off the small spoon as he tilts it down.  It falls back to the bowl with a sickening plop. “Not to be rude, but do you have toast or something… else?”

Sandra cocks her head, her chocolate brown curls bouncing along with her movements. “What’s t-oa-st?”

“You know, when you take bread and put it in the toaster,” Lance continues for Keith, until he realizes it’s pointless. “Oh, right, this isn’t Earth.” His eyes darken in the brief remembrance.

“Look, I’m sorry this isn’t the food you’re used to, but this is a normal early morning meal for us. I can try to find something else…”

“No, it’s okay,” Keith replies, straightening his slouch. “I’m not hungry anyways.” He pushes the bowl away from him at the same time as Lance. Their bowls ping as the sides kiss in the center of the table. 

“So,” Lance begins the questioning, “what’s with the domed city?”

Sandra sighs, taking one last sip of her sweet smelling drink. “I knew you had a lot of bottled up questions. I guess that’s a good place to start.

“As you probably know, this planet heats up in the morning, and for us Tazeron’s it's extremely uncomfortable. So the ancients-- ah, our ancestors --built us a dome over the growing city. A place where we can now control temperature and weather controls to our preference. It also protects us fro-”

“From those God awful monsters? The bugs?” Lance interrupts grimacing.

“Yes, at night they’re extremely dangerous, and see us as prey. Our scientists say we have pheromones that mimic their usual food source.”

Lance ponders her words. “But they didn’t bother us because we’re not Tazeron--” he covertly glances at Keith “--at least not fully Tazeron.”

“Exactly,” Sandra nods. 

“Now I have two questions for you, what did you do with our lions? And do you know who the Galra are?” Keith asks, breaking his own silence.

“Your spacecrafts were too big for us to move; we left them. I don’t like to mess with foreign machinery; stories that often start like that never end well for the medlers.” Staring straight into Keith’s eyes, her orange irises wide, she responds to his second question. “I do not know who the Galra are.” 

Keith doesn’t look away, and before he blinks, he catches the way her jaw ticks at her own words. Immediately, he knows she’s hiding something.

* * *

It’s nighttime again, and Lance has been forcefully moved to the floor. Though it’s no more less annoying than him being in bed. As Keith stares at the blank ceiling, the only noise his ears can pick up is Lance’s tossing and turning. The way the floorboards creak under his weight, the way the blanket rustles with each new position he takes.

Keith  _ may  _ throw a pillow at him, and Lance  _ may  _ wake up with a startled, angry gasp. And they  _ will  _ argue about this in the morning. 

But throughout the exchange, Keith  _ may  _ just realize it’s harder to sleep without someone beside him. 

* * *

Surprisingly, Sandra was wrong. It’s not a shop where Keith and Lance have to work but a restaurant. One with a long red awning leading customers to intricate glass doors. And etched in the clear, flawless doors is the name  **_Embers._ **

The silver handle must be made of ice, because as Keith wraps his fingers around the handle, a shiver runs through him. He stares at his reflection in the crystalline glass. A hint of dark bags underlines his eyes, and his hair, though combed, is now windswept from their walk. He catches Lance biting his nails, and instantly their gazes clash. Keith pulls the door open, breaking the current between their eyes. 

The restaurant's floor is a dark wood, extending to the far end of the building and is only broken by a white threshold leading down another hallway. The walls are painted in a soothing blue that contrasts pleasantly with the floor boards. Tables of all sizes litter the space, each covered by a white tablecloth and bronze utensils. Artwork of beautiful, but alien, landscapes, delicately framed in white, decorates the walls. 

Because of the way the lights are positioned, it’s like a spotlight shines down on the two of them. Keith pulls at the neckline of his shirt, feeling claustrophobic as if he’s on trial.  With hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders tilted forward, Lance is the poster child for a relaxed attitude. The spotlight loves him and he loves the spotlight. 

The glass door softly clicks shut, and a girl with black hair tinted blue pops up from behind the hostess's podium. She pushes up the glasses sliding down on her pointed nose. Freckles are splattered across her face, and she plasters on a perfect smile. 

“We’re not open yet. But we’ll be ready in a few more minutes, if you’d be kind enough to wait outside.”

Her mood and outward appearance never changes when Lance saunters up to her, laying on his charms thick. “What’s your name,  _ bella _ ?” He winks.

“If you could just wait outside,  _ sir _ , w-”

Keith effortlessly rips Lance away from the side of the podium. “Sorry about him, we’re actually here to see the owner. We’re the new workers.”

Her jade eyes sparkle in acknowledgement. “This way, please,” the girl, a year or two older than them, commands, leading them to the back of the restaurant near the kitchen, and then disappears to prepare the front of the house. 

An old man with graying hair, peppered slightly with black streaks, receives them with a tight lipped smile. His demeanor projects a pleasant attitude but his forest green eyes hold back a storm as his sight settles on the two of them.

“So you’re the two boys that stole my car,” he says matter of factly, but there is an edge to his tone. 

“Y-yes,” Lance stutters. “Uhh, we’re very sorry about that. We didn’t know it was your car, and I was trying very hard not to damage your vehicle. And trust me, if I let Keith drive,” he continues, pointing a finger to his right, “your car would have come back in a much worse condition than just scratched paint.”

Keith squeaks, “Lance!” 

The man’s lips twitch. “Hmm. I would have prefered that  _ neither  _ of you were driving, but we can’t fix the past now, can we? Well anyways, they’ve told me you boys aren’t from around here, but I expect you know how to write down what people want to eat and then deliver it to them?”

“Of course,” Keith says confidently, and his gaze slides to Lance, whose eyes dart back and forth nervously.

Lance whispers, “Yeah.”

“Good. You’re now our new waiters.” The old man leads them down a short hallway to a well lit room. 

It’s small with a few changing areas segregated by a curtain. Cubbies are already littered with other worker’s clothes. And two fresh uniforms are laid out on the bench.

Keith already begins to pick up his uniform, when the old man addresses them again. “You’ll ask customers for their choice of refreshment first, and then come back a few minutes later to ask them for their choice of a meal. And always be polite.” He pauses for a moment, watching their reactions. “Oh, I’m Desmond and my granddaughter out front is Maureen. Just yell if you need help.”

“Thank you, sir,” Keith answers, but the old man has walked out the door, closing it roughly behind him.

Keith draws his attention back to the uniform he has already wrinkled by clutching onto it too hard. He finds a white shirt, a black dress vest, black slacks, and a short, thin piece of material that’s probably for a bowtie of some sort.

They’ve stumbled into an upscale restaurant that Keith was not mentally prepared for. 

Breaking contact from the most expensive clothes he will ever own, Keith spots Lance nibbling at his lip. “Why are you so nervous?” Keith innocently godes, watching his companion fidget with the uniform in his hands.

Lowering his head, Lance mumbles something incoherent. 

“What was that? Let me guess, you’ve never worked as a waiter before? Hmm, that’s too bad.” Keith awards him with a little smirk. Countless weeks at a crummy restaurant, enduring an endless amount of rude customers, has finally helped him in more ways than just a job for money. It gives him an edge over Lance after the ‘car incident’.

Lance gaps. “Look here, mister, I just happened to be a grocery boy not a waiter.”

“I still know how to do something that you don’t!” Keith playfully brags.

Lance crosses his arms. “Mmmhmm. And I can drive a car, which you can’t. So I’d say we’re even,  _ dropout _ .” 

After a quick glaring contest, and straining not to smile goofily, they separate in a huff, each proceeding into a little curtained off area for changing. The clothes fit, a little too well for it to be a coincidence. Keith is already uncomfortable in the formal uniform, and rolls up the sleeves to his elbows, needing his skin to breath. Keith spies a tiny sink tucked away in the corner. Deciding to splash water on his face, droplets run down his cheeks and off his chin, pooling in the crook of his neck and darkening the collar of his white shirt.

With a quick movement of his hands, Keith loops his black hair into a ponytail, exposing the back of his neck to the chilly air of the restaurant. He grips the soft fabric of the curtain, preparing to push it back. 

And now Keith stands there, struck by the way Lance subconsciously arches his back, the black vest straining against his chest. The way his clothes have been sculpted to his body. The way he’s slicked back his brown hair and it sparkles with excess water.  _ Holy shit, _ his mind whispers to him. 

“What the hell?” Keith mutters out loud, but quietly enough that the words are only captured by his ears. If Keith tilted his head a little, instead of trying to desperately focus solely on a blemish on the wall, he would catch a crimson blush staining Lance’s caramel skin. 

Breaking the awkwardness-- for Keith the last ten seconds had been filled with enough awkwardness to last him a lifetime --, Lance bursts out laughing, a truly beautiful melody fills the room. “You call that a bow tie? Come here, I’ll do it for you.”

Keith resists the urge to look down at the messy knot at the base of his collarbone, and bites back a very sarcastic remark. The sudden proximity between him and Lance is stifling and infuriating, as he realizes Lance is a couple inches taller and if he wants to glare at his fellow Paladin, he has to tilt his head up.  

Lance’s nimble fingers work the two ends of the bow tie. “Are you okay with this?” Lance finally catches Keith’s strange gaze. “I mean we can bolt, find somewhere else in the city to hide. W-”

Keith stops his rambling. “It’s fine. We have a roof to sleep under, free food, and if all we have to do is serve people for a while…” Keith trails off, “It’s a small price to pay.” 

His companion nods, backing away from Keith, then cocks his head, competitiveness filling the rich blue hue of his eyes.  “Besides, if  _ you  _ were a waiter, how hard can it really be?” Lance asks, eagerly pushing past Keith to find his first table. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the waiter outfits were based on thesearchingastronaut's fanart: http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/150291808532/i-finished-it-only-took-me-the-whole-night
> 
> "Helna" is just the Tazeron’s god.
> 
> Translation:   
> Bella- beautiful
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I hope it's still enjoyable though!

Apparently, it’s quite complicated. Waitering that is. Keeping track of five or more tables at the same time--honestly, everybody has blurred together--, not mixing up orders, and bringing the customer’s food to them on time. It’s a nightmare, but somehow, it’s a nightmare that Keith can navigate through with ease. 

His lean body effortlessly weaves in and out of the path of other waiters. Keith holds the tray of food high, balancing it perfectly on the palm of his hand. The water nestled in the round glasses doesn’t even wobble. How he can hum a perfect, soothing melody while working. Lance, on the other hand, barely manages from tripping over his own feet. He has to hold the tray in both hands, and nine out of ten times, he mixes up the Tazerons’ orders. 

Lance releases a puff of air as he slams the thick black tray down, waiting for his next batch of fresh, steaming food to come out of the kitchen. With the back of his hand, he wipes sweat off his brow.  

“How’s it going out there, Lance?” Keith calls from behind him. 

And Lance turns to discover an infuriating smirk plastered on Keith’s equally infuriatingly flawless face. A fake smile, “It couldn’t be easier.”

“Hmm.” Keith’s eyes narrow while Lance gulps, his eyes drifting to his left. “Well, if it’s so easy, how ‘bout we up the stakes. A little competition to see who can serve the most tables without messing up?”

Never being able to back down from a challenge, Lance responds immediately. Only a heartbeat passes between the words leaving Keith’s mouth and Lance voicing his affirmative. “Why not. Loser gets the floor, and possibly a pillow thrown at their face in the dead middle of night.”

“You’re still not over that, are you?” Keith smiles, as if recalling the event with gusto.

“I  _ never  _ will be.”

Keith’s shoulders shake in silent chuckles. “Okay, drama queen, I accept your conditions.”

Lance’s warm hand fits perfectly in Keith’s grasp as they finalize the deal. Uncharacteristically, Keith pulls him closer, and Lance can see every different colored fleck in his eyes. Gray, purple, yellow.

In a low,  _ slightly  _ flirty voice, Keith says, “But I will win.” 

Cocky bastard. “We’ll see.” New strength and determination surges within Lance. His foot taps with anticipation. And before the chef can hit the small bell hidden away in the corner of the window, Lance snatches his food from the cook’s hands, and flies out of there, knowing exactly which table to bring it to.

The next few hours are a whirlwind. His feet move like clockwork, never faltering. Lance gains a rhythm once he has a goal in mind to reach. Beating Keith and throwing a pillow at him.  _ Dios,  _ he’s still fucking pissed at Keith for that. Apparently, Lance can’t sleep in the bed, and now he can’t sleep on the floor. If this is how the rest of their journey is going to play out, then he better get comfortable sleeping on the roof.

At least he won’t have to worry about the rain. He thinks. Do Tazerons even let it rain in the dome? He and Keith have only been here a few days and the weather has been nothing but clear skies, a light breeze, and a comfortable temperature for wearing pants and a jacket.

Similar to the weather he used to love back home. That early october air, crisp leaves already falling from the trees, the scent of pumpkin spice in every coffee shop he went to. 

Shit, the nostalgia for home is overwhelming him again; Lance blinks away a tear. This isn’t going to be a comfortable next couple of weeks or forever. Are they ever going to get off this planet? Wait--Lance freezes in his tracks, the jug of water balancing precariously in his hand--does Keith even want to leave?

Lance subtlely stares at his companion. Keith interacts perfectly with his people, as if finding a home here where he couldn’t discover one on Earth.  

Does Keith even want to leave? And a subconscious frown mars Lance’s features as he continues to pour a customer's glass of water, until it overflows and the female Tazeron quietly shrieks.

“Are you an idiot or something?” The older lady scolds, her eyes a purple fire. “Watch what you’re doing next time.”

“O-of course,” Lance replies, caught off guard when he has to jerk his steady gaze away from Keith. He quickly grabs a bunch of napkins, towelling off her hand and table in a frenzied hurry.  

“Uh, anything else I can get you, ma’am?” Lance adds in a smile, hoping that will calm her down.

Her lips jut out before she speaks, “No, bring the other waiter over. He has more skills.”

Fucking Keith. When is it going to be Lance’s time to shine? He grits his teeth. “Of course, ma’am.”

He beckons Keith to him with an overly dramatic wave of his hand. Lance’s dark blue eyes bore deep holes into Keith’s head, his anger rolling off of him in waves. Keith cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner; his lips quirk as he raises a single black eyebrow.

“What?” he asks, pushing a fancy writing instrument behind his ear, easily sliding it into his hair. 

“This lady--”  _ from hell,  _ Lance wants to add but doesn’t “--wants  _ you _ .”

“One more table for me, I guess. Have fun on the floor, Lance.” And Keith flips to the page with his tally marks. Twenty-one ticks are etched in glistening black ink. Twenty-one tables.

Lance peers down at his own slanted writing. Fifteen--now fourteen--marks mock him. The pad of paper wrinkles as his grip tightens. “There are still two hours left.”

After hesitating a moment, Keith proceeds to pat Lance on the shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that,” and he gently pushes Lance out of the way to stand in front of the lady, asking for her order.

Lance watches from the side, wondering where this Keith has come from. This Keith with a more cheeky, playful attitude. Lance would be lying if he said this didn’t intrigue him, as a mystery to solve but also one to enjoy on his journey. 

The next hour is spent sabotaging Keith. Knowing the rush of customers was slowing down and he wouldn’t be able to reach Keith by adding to his table count, Lance decides to subtract tables from Keith’s impressive figure of twenty-seven.

Maureen distracts Keith with unnecessary questions, and while he’s occupied, stumbling over his words, Lance ropes the cook into his scheme. A soup dish is switched for a bowl of salad, and Keith doesn’t even bat an eye at the change; he’s too oblivious to notice. He’s too oblivious to notice many things. On the sidelines--all his tables are satisfied, the customers stuffing their faces with food--Lance cackles as Keith’s face pales, realizing his mistake. Lance cackles as he mentally crosses out one tally mark after another and soon Keith’s tally is down to twenty. Tied with Lance’s.  

“Keith, buddy, having some trouble?” Lance innocently bats his eyes.

Carding a hand through his thick black locks, Keith sets his crippling gaze onto Lance. “I know you had something to do with this.”

“With what, I’ve been attending to my tables, minding my own business.” Lance smirks, leaning back on the counter.

“You cheated.”

“You have no proof.”

Keith growls, “You’re still sleeping on the floor.”

“Ah, ah, ah--” Lance wags his finger “--a deal’s a deal. Whoever loses sleeps on the floor. And right now, that could be you.”

“You’re so..so..so.. Arggg!”

This time Lance pats him on the shoulder, his palm sliding across the delicate material of the black vest. “Those are the words of a man who’s already lost.”

With that he leaves Keith alone, only to feel a ghost-like tap on his shoulder from Maureen. Though Lance quickly turns his body to face the petite girl, he can still sense Keith’s heated  presence behind his back.

“That man is asking for you,” she says, pointing in a vague direction. But Lance can easily tell who she’s talking about. Distantly, he hears Keith scoff.

The man’s glances are anything but subtle. His eyes skirt down Lance’s body clothed in the snug uniform, and subconsciously the man licks his lips. Maybe Lance should be a little disturbed at the way the man undresses him with his eyes. But part of Lance is flattered. Even on alien planets he can still have admirers. 

And the man certainly is attractive--though Lance always likes to understand their personality first before submerging himself deep into a relationship. Spiky black hair, blood red eyes, dark skin, possibly late teens or early twenties; this man definitely got the luck of the gene pool.

“Uh.. what would you like to drink, sir?” Lance inquires, sliding over to his table. He tries not to notice the glass of sparkling water already in the man’s hand.

Graciously, the man doesn’t comment on Lance’s slip up. “I’ve never seen eyes like those, handsome. Where are you from?”

“--not interested,” Keith’s voice suddenly fades into their conversation, having quickly walked over to them.

“Never heard of that place, ‘not interested.’ Which part of the galaxy is it in?” What a smartass, Lance thinks and eagerly watches Keith’s reaction with a climbing eyebrow. 

“I said,  _ he’s  _ not interested.”

“Excuse me?” Lance practically yells. “I’ll have you know that I am just as interested in men as I am in women. You’ve been living under a rock, so I don’t expect you to know the term bisexual.”

Keith holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way. And I knew perfectly well that you weren’t straight.”

“ _ Suuure… _ and how did the oh so mighty Keith figure that out?”

“Please, I’ve seen that way you stare at Shiro during training.”

“Don’t we all?” Lance mumbles back. His cheeks are dusted in pink because who doesn’t find Shiro attractive?

The beautiful man interrupts, the ornate chair squeaking against the dark floor. “It looks like you have some ah… relationship issues to work out. So I’m just going to leave now.” His legs make quick work of scurrying him to the entrance. 

Lance and Keith both direct their heated gaze from each other to the retreating back of the customer. “I’m not his boyfriend!” they holler at the same time.

The soft swish of the door closing is the only audible sound in the restaurant as everybody’s wandering eyes finally fall on them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	7. Chapter 7

“What in the name of Helna is going on?” Desmond bellows, rushing out of his office, a writing instrument hastily tucked behind his ear. His pale face colors to a beat red as liquid hot anger boils inside of him.

Keith quickly darts his cloudy gray eyes back and forth between Lance, the closed glass door, and the furious owner. He bites his lip as nervousness starts to stiffen his limbs and widen his eyes. It’s not like he and Lance set the place on fire. Honestly, why is Desmond so pissed?

He hears Maureen quietly whisper, “Oh boy, you’re going to get it.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Keith thinks sarcastically, his mouth falling open as the redness in the owner's face deepens.

Lance takes the first step forward, his shoe squeaking across the dark wood, noise ricocheting off the walls and filling the silent restaurant. He winches, eyelids shadowing the dark blue hue. “Look, how about everyone returns to their delicious looking meals and pretends the outburst  _ never  _ happened.”  

A woman drops her bronze knife, the metal chiming against the plate. “Whoops,” she mumbles, gripping the plate in an attempt to stop its ring.

Though the brief distraction gave the two Paladins a two second break, the owner’s sharp green eyes are back, peering into their souls. “Okay, okay.” Finally the owner seems to be settling down. “This is your first warning. Wait, actually, no.” If possible, his eyes narrow even more, cutting through Keith. It’s uncomfortable enough for him to break eye contact and trace the walls of the room. “Your first warning was when you stole my car.” Desmond kneads his temples in exasperation. “There is literally no hope for you two.” Contempt grips onto the owner’s words.

Keith watches with baited breath as Lance clenches and unclenches his fists. They’re both tired and homesick for the Castle and Keith just knows this will end tragically. With a snarl, Lance responds with, “Well maybe if you didn’t leave the keys in the car like a first class idiot, none of us would be in this mess!”

Another bout of thick silence follows Lance’s harsh words. With a ferocious tug, Lance yanks off the bow tie, throwing it to the ground with a thump. Dust from a footprint stains the black material as Lance digs his heel into the thin cloth. 

“I am so done. So fucking done. With you,” he points to Desmond, “and especially with you.” His finger lands on Keith.

“Sorry,” Keith calmly responds, “but you are not pinning anything on me. We’re in this together, and we have to leave this planet. Together. We’re all each other has.” Gray clashes with blue in a swirl of a stormy ocean, reflecting lightning shining bright in the sky.  

Lance blinks, quickly coming out of the hot red haze. “I know. I-I’m sorry.”

His lips quirk, “It’s okay. I’ve been wanting to scream for a while too. You just beat me to it.”

Keith’s ears twitch, picking up the soft sound of someone cooing. “Not to interrupt, but I think you guys would be really cute together.” With a thumbs up, they finish with, “I’m rooting for you!” The customer has the audacity to wink, smacking their lips together teasingly. Lance whirls in the direction of the sound. 

“Oh my God,” Keith mutters, his eye twitching. His hand slaps over Lance’s mouth before he spews a string of curses in front of the customers. 

But something cold, wet, and utterly disgusting presses against Keith hand. “You licked me!” he cries, quickly drawing his hand away from Lance’s mouth. But Lance doesn’t even look over at Keith, and his eyes close in on the customer. 

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you? I am-- you know what, just fuck you.  _ No soy el novio de Keith _ .” Slipping into rapid Spanish, Keith can tell Lance fires off a few more swears before pressing his mouth into a tight frown.   

And then the owner's voice hollers, “Out! Both of you get your stuff and go! Now!”

* * *

Night had already fallen onto the city by the time Keith and Lance are booted out of the restaurant. The twin suns have long set, stealing back the heat that had circulated the interior of the dome like a blanket. As Keith breathes out, the air around him becomes a puff of white smoke, soon dissipating into nothing. The skin underneath his chipped fingernails is already turning a delicate shade of purple.

"You'd think they’d have better temperature controls," Lance rasps, rubbing his hands together.

Keith shrugs, hiking up the collar of his dress shirt, hoping to trap some remaining warm air left over from the restaurant. "Maybe.. maybe they wanted to be realistic as possible?"

"And freeze everyone to death? Yeah, that's smart." Lance thrusts his hands in Keith's face. "Look, I already have frostbite."

Keith's numb fingers grasp onto Lance. The cold seeping into his skin doesn't bother Keith. "That's not frostbite. Just keep rubbing your hands together to keep the circulation moving."

The sweetest chuckle escapes Lance. "I guess I scared my brother for no reason."

"Please elaborate." Keith starts walking as Lance continues to trail behind.

Rubbing the back of his head, Lance plasters on a sheepish expression. "Well it's really not that interesting. But my five year old brother was moving so slowly he would have been outpaced by a turtle. I told him he was already getting frostbite--honest to God I thought he was--and he zipped back to our house. Which I do admit I was pleased with. He was so scared he wouldn't come outside and play in the snow for a week."

Keith swallows a chuckle, but mirth still sparkles in his eyes, causing Lance to smile, white teeth showing. “You got in trouble, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Diego tattled on me the moment  _ mamá _ walked into the room. Complete with crocodile tears and everything.”

Keith shivers as a chill cuts through his thin clothing and he hunches his shoulders. “You deserved whatever you got,” he says playfully.   

“Yeah, yeah of course my older sister probably did the same thing to me when I was Diego’s age. I bet she didn’t get in trouble though; she’s the golden child.”

His eyes slide into slits; a glowing street lamp catches every angle on his face and darkens his eyes with shadows. “It must be nice to have a big family.”

Walking backwards now to face Keith, Lance nods. “I mean if you don’t mind having no privacy, then yes it is.” 

Fleeting images of what he could’ve had mock Keith as they filter through his mind. A women with black hair and an unknown father are the brightest and most prominent of the pictures. But if the man and the woman are his parents they must be dead, and something heavy sinks deep in Keith’s soul, as he imagines Lance, younger than he is now and probably missing a few baby teeth, laughing with his siblings and parents. Not a care in the world.

Keith looks up sharply. "Even though this has been a great bonding experience, do you have a clue where Sandra's house is?"

“Nope.”

* * *

“You’re telling me you got kicked out? And let me make sure I read this exactly--” Sandra unwrinkles the paper covered in a messy scribble from the restaurant owner “--for creating multiple disturbances and actually causing a customer to flee.” 

“Hey, that customer called Keith my boyfriend. Which is one of biggest insults on any planet!”

Let’s not start this again, Keith mentally tells himself, but he relents and responds anyways. “Really? Well I think it would be more insulting to be dating you, so I think I got the worst end of that comment.” A beat of silence, “Oh and before we left, I talked to the cook. I know you cheated which means you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Lance’s face twists. “There is no way in hell I’m sleeping on the floor. You better move over in that bed because I’m coming up.”

Friendliness from their previous bonding experience vanishes in the instant Keith’s eyes narrow into a hard gray glare. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Not.”

“Am!”

“As much as I like watching a good married couple argument, it’s giving me a headache.”

“We’re not dating!” they yell at the same time.

“It sure looks like you are,” she mumbles. “And when you do start dating, and you will, I want to be invited to the wedding.”

“Not you too,” Keith moans as Lance says,

“I will never date  _ him _ .”

“And I would uh.. never think about dating him.” Are his cheeks heating up? Keith better not be blushing. Why is he blushing anyways? He subconsciously bites his lip as he spots Lance’s rosy cheeks from the cold, his tousled hair from their walk, and the way his endless blue eyes like the sea never leave Keith’s face.

The pink in Lance’s cheeks deepens as he ducks his head. “Let’s just not talk about this anymore.”

“Works for me,” Sandra easily replies, crumpling up the paper. 

Keith notes for the first time that her house is dimly lighted at night. He can barely make out the couch that is parked near the far corner or a clear glass panel hanging on the wall that must act like a TV. A single bulb hangs above the kitchen island, burning bright and strong. But the beams only touch the outer edge of the kitchen, illuminating the scars on the hardwood floor, the divots and scuff marks from shoes shuffling across none too gently. 

And Keith realizes that though on Earth this would be a house worth living in, maybe on Tazeron it’s not. Maybe Sandra needed them to keep working, to get the free food they would have been offered at the end of the work day, so she wouldn't have to worry about spending money on two hungry boys. Maybe the military doesn’t pay its participants as much as it should. 

The light hits the dark bags under her eyes, her unkempt hair, and the beginnings of worry lines on her chocolate skin. 

He buries his thoughts. “I am so sorry about what happened. If you need us to get a job so you don’t have to support us, I-- we will be more than willing to.”

As if coming to the same conclusion as Keith, Lance voices his affirmative.

A slight smile stretches her pink lips. “That’s sweet of you. But please, it’s not your fault you’re stuck in this unfortunate situation. I-- I do have some money set aside; we will be able to get food and such. Don’t worry about it.”

“I still feel awful about putting you in this situation.”

“Please.” Her golden orange eyes flare suddenly as she gazes into Keith’s eyes. “For you, I would do anything.”

Deep inside, a spark ignites a furnace that sputters and dims as soon as it’s lit. Whatever Keith might have felt, whatever he might have thought, is shattered the minute she breaks eye contact.

Sandra claps her hands and Keith jumps and Lance’s gaze borders on an inquisitive glare because of her odd word choice. “Okay, I have a free week long period starting tomorrow, so I can show you around the city or we could go check on your lion things?”

Surprised, Keith and Lance share a brief glance. “Let’s go look at our lions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter:) We're finally getting into more of the storyline, yay!
> 
> Ugg, I have my Senior project proposal on Friday; I am so nervous.
> 
> Translation:  
> No soy el novio de Keith- I am not Keith’s boyfriend
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:D
> 
> Some quick notes:
> 
> Okay so I know Lance is now officially Cuban (which he always was in this story but I'm so happy it's finally canon) but I actually don’t headcanon him living there. But I do believe that he probably travels often to Cuba to visit his abuelos. So yeah, in this story he lives where it gets cold and it snows. 
> 
> Lance also has an older sister, a younger brother, and a younger sister (who was an unexpected surprise).
> 
> Their ages (just because I will probably be talking more about Lance’s family life):  
> Unnamed older sister: 20  
> Lance: about 17-18  
> Diego: 5  
> Unnamed younger sister: 3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 100 subscribers!!!! Thank you so much:D

Lance imagines what everyone would say:

_Shiro: We’re all rooting for both of you to find your way home._

_Hunk: We miss you, man; it’s not the same without you._

_Pidge: As long as you don’t touch my stuff, I guess we can allow you to come back._

_Allura: You’re awesome, Lance! Come home soon!_ (Okay, so maybe Allura wouldn’t say _anything_ close to that. But Lance can dream)

_Coran: What the quiznack are you doing, boy? Get off that planet and find us._

It keeps him sane as they begin to leave the dome.

Waving a laminated pass to one of the guards stationed, Sandra pushes open a door, stained with rust, and a sprinkling of the chipping gray paint, faded from the two suns, flutters to the floor. A wave of hot air grabs the ends of Lance’s shirt, lifting the soft cotton of his skin, and the wind brushes his brown hair across his cheeks.

Sandra quickly wraps her hair into a perfectly round bun and slaps dark sunglasses over her fiery eyes. She waves them forward, beginning to speak as she does. “This is the door we use when training sessions are held outside. I have complete access.”

As Lance walks forward, he salutes both guards, two fingers leave his forehead in a flicking motion. The guard stares blankly; cocking his head slightly in confusion might be his only visible movement. He hears Keith grunt behind him and whirls around. “What’s your problem?” he asks.

Keith adjusts the bag slung over his back. His thick black hair is tied back into a small ponytail again, revealing the pale, unprotected skin of his neck. Lance’s tongue flicks out, subconsciously licking his lips.

“I don’t have a problem.”

Lance rolls his eyes, proceeding to walk backwards, coming ever closer to the threshold to the outside. “You just don’t grunt for no reason.”

“So now I can’t grunt without your permission?”

Wagging his finger, Lance hums, “I didn’t say that. Implied it, maybe, but said it, no.”

“You’re… _insufferable_.”

“Not the word I was hoping for. I was expecting amazing, brilliant, _handsome._ ”

They’ve stopped just before the door frame, the outside world a foot away but still unreachable. Sandra stands like a goddess, outlined in the suns’ rays, painting her gold. An unamused frown graces her lips, as she taps her foot in impatience. The two boys ignore her, caught in their own world.

Keith angles his head. “No, I’d think I’d describe you with annoying, very annoying, and very, very annoying.” With each word he takes a step closer to Lance.

“Wow, great vocabulary there, Mullet.” Lance leans forward slightly. “Well, since you are a dropout, I’ll just have to teach you a few things.”

 _Abort! Abort! Abort!_ his mind urgently flashes, _You’re flirting with Keith!_

Keith’s eyes sparkle with mischief, caught up in the moment. “Maybe you should.”

“Ehem!”

Startled, they fling around to discover an extremely angry Sandra strolling back into the dome, grabbing them by their shirts, and dragging them outside. “If I knew this was how it was going to be, I would have let you relieve your sexual tension before we started this journey.”

Keith’s face becomes a dark red beacon, his eyes wide in embarrassment. Lance, on the other hand, is too starstruck with the outside world to drown in the sudden embarrassment. Not being dehydrated or starving or drained of all forms of energy really helps one appreciate the landscape of the alien planet. Beyond them lies a sparse plain; the tall, yellowing blades of grass dance to the rhythm of the wind. And farther beyond that, stands a proud forest with massive trees and darkness swirling around the large trunks. The sky is colored in a baby blue, with wisps of purple streaking across the canvas. Thin white clouds do little to block the suns beating down on the surface.

“Do we really have to walk all that way?” Lance wines, the heel of his boot digging into the loose brown dirt. “Don’t you people have ships or vehicles or something?”

“Nothing would be able to get through that forest. Besides, the only ships we have are for cargo.” When he tries to send her a death glare, his gaze is blocked by the black lenses of her glasses. “Better get used to walking, Lance, we have a long way to go.”

“Arrg, I hate this shitty planet,” Lance mutters, forcefully moving himself forward.

An hour of silence follows, no one having a word to say. Keith appears to be lost somewhere else entirely, his eyes glazed and set on the horizon. Sandra concentrates on marching forward. Grass slams against Lance’s long legs as he walks. Little scrapes pepper his hands when he runs them through the sharp blades.

“Hey,” Lance starts, “I thought the bugs liked your people’s pheromones, or some other sciencey shit like that?”

Sandra’s quiet laugh disperses through the wide empty landscape. “You’re just remembering that now? Way to be concerned for me.”

“S-sorry, it’s just been a hectic cou--”

“I’m joking, Lance. Relax. Our people have created this drug that will block the pheromones--we use it a lot when training the cadets--but it only lasts a few of days and can only be administered over a weekly period. If there’s too much in our system, our bodies build an immunity.”

“Okay, okay, you can stop with the Pidge speak.”

“‘Pidge speak?’ Is that a term from your world.”

Keith cracks a smile, jutting in. “No, Pidge is our friend. She.. she’s big on the science and technology stuff. She’s probably smarter than all of us combined.”

“How many are there?”

“Hmm?”

“How many are there in your family?” Sandra further explains.

Lance begins to talk “Oh, they’re not our _real_ fami--”

“They’re the only family I’ve got,” Keith cuts him off.

Sandra’s eyes darken with sadness, her gaze locking on Keith for an unusual amount of time. Seconds pass. The corners of her mouth twitch, as if trying to speak but is blocked by some invisible force. Instead she ducks her head, turning to look at the forest still a long ways off.

Keith answers her, but Lance is still unable to get Sandra’s strange reaction out his head. _She knows something,_ he thinks, _Sandra must know something about Keith._ “Well, there’s Shiro who we’ve dubbed Space Dad, Allura who’s a badass princess, Hunk our culinary genius, Pidge our tech master, and Coran... Well Coran is unique.”

“Uniquely amazing,” Lance adds.

“Sounds like a great group of people,” Sandra responds. “And I will try my hardest to help you get back to them.”

“Thank you,” they both chorus, and the group lapses into another silence. A comfortable silence.

They’re at the edge of the trees now, about to step into the darkness of bugs and wilderness and whatever other strange things are hiding beneath the foliage. Purple has taken over the sky and both suns hang low on the horizon, wanting to disappear. Sandra has taken the lead again, Keith follows closely behind her, and Lance lags a few steps behind, content with his thoughts. He pears at Keith through lidded eyes. The boy seems troubled, and Lance finds himself jogging to meet his stride.

“Hey, why are you so quiet?”

Keith doesn’t glance at him. “We’re all quiet.”

Shaking his head, Lance says “No, I mean all day.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Keith mumbles.

“Please…”

“Fine,” Keith huffs, “I’m worried about what we’ll find out about our lions. I’m worried we won’t be able to salvage them.”

Keith swings his gaze to Lance, his gray, purplish eyes silently daring Lance to make a jest at his confession. But Lance won’t; he understands feelings. He knows there’s an appropriate time and place for everything.

With one last glance behind his shoulder, as he begins to walk ahead of Keith, he sincerely replies with “I am too.”

* * *

After another half hour of walking--or what feels like another _five_ hours to Lance--Sandra calls for them to make camp. Rows of unevenly dispersed trees block the view from where they came from. Only Sandra’s steady beam of crystal light from a weird looking flashlight shatters the darkness around them. The ground is hard, littered with rocks and menacing looking roots, ones that purposely stick up to trip you. In the distance, Lance thinks he hears a distant buzzing.  

A unexpected thump of sleeping bags draws Lance’s eyes back to their impromptu campsite. And soon a quick sharp ping rings throughout the woods as a knife strikes flint and a roaring fire stands in place of a pile of sticks. Sandra passes them protein bars as Lance settles beside Keith. As his teeth rip into the bar, he almost pukes but swallows the chunk of food, knowing it’s the only thing they have. The aftertaste coats the inside of his mouth; Lance tries to concentrate on other things than the taste of crap currently in his mouth.

“Yeah, sorry about the food choice. It’s the best I could get,” Sandra apologizes. “Oh!” she exclaims in remembrance, quickly rummaging through her own pack. “I managed to get these for you.”

A familiar weight slips into Lance’s hand and a sigh of relief escapes him as he gazes upon his blue and white Bayard. “Thank you.” And Lance allows his Bayard to transform into a laser gun.

Sandra’s shock whispers past his air as Keith also transforms his into his sword. “So that’s how they work,” she mutters to herself.

For awhile, Lance’s hands rest protectively on his weapon, his nimble fingers tapping on it repeatedly. His eyes are lost in the fire and the flames twirling around the charring logs. Wayward orange sparks drift to Lance, disappearing into the sky. He doesn’t have to sneak a glance at Keith to conjure up a picture of him in his mind. They’ve only been on this planet for more than a week and already so much has happened. Keith’s an alien--well at least partly an alien. Lance has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that they’re not done with the surprises. And everything seems to be leading directly to Keith. _And what the hell was with that weird flirting from both of them?_ Not that Lance particularly minded. It was odd but _nice_ at the same time.

Lance returns his attention to the fire. It’s tamer than a couple of minutes ago, the flames, a dull orange, barely reaching a couple of inches into the air. Keith’s unexpected yawn and Sandra’s voice break him out of his trance.  

“Look, it’s going to get cold tonight, so you better get used to cuddling with each other.”

Lance sputters as much as Keith, their cheeks darkening with a crimson hue. “W-what?!”

“W-what ab-out you?” Keith sutters, unsuccessfully trying to compose himself.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she responds with a small smile. “Now off to bed you two. It’s well past your bedtime.”

* * *

And maybe, just maybe, Lance will wrap his arms around Keith in the middle of the night, burying his face into Keith’s neck and hair. And maybe, just maybe, Keith will wake up some time later, noticing the extra warmth and the soft tickle of Lance’s breathing, and smile softly.

And maybe, just maybe, they stay like that until morning.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’ve been neglecting the Galra Keith side of this story. I’ll hopefully get back on track with that in the next chapter.
> 
> If you ever want to chat, feel free to message me on tumblr (shatterinseconds)
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	9. Chapter 9

“How are we going to find our lions in all of this… mess?” Keith asks upon waking up, quickly untangling himself from Lance. Not without blushing of course. And somehow through all that movement Lance doesn’t wake up.

Nature surrounds them, prisoning them. Branches stretch their arms, and wherever he steps, leaves brush against his pants. It’s all one gigantic mess, and Keith is pretty sure he wouldn’t be able find his way back to the city.   


“Haven’t you noticed?” Sandra pipes up, packing away the camp, “Both of you have been guiding us.”

Keith isn’t even awake enough to comment. But silently he does admit his body had been subtly tugging him in a certain direction. He thought Sandra was leading them but now he realizes it must have been the other way around. Nodding is his response, accepting her answer. 

Keith sneaks a peek at the sleeping Lance. Tufts of short brown hair stick up in all directions and his mouth wears a calm smile, unburdened by the day’s struggle. If only Lance was like that all the time...

Sandra’s command knocks Keith from his thoughts. “Wake him up, will ya?”

A small, dangerous smile snakes its way onto Keith’s lips. “With pleasure.”

“Hey, Lance,” Keith whispers soothingly into the other Paladin’s ear. “It’s time to WAKE UP!” His holler echoes throughout the forest.

But Keith’s reflexes are still fast asleep and he’s rewarded with a sharp smack to his face delivered by Lance’s head jerking up unexpectedly. The bridge of his nose receives the brunt of the impact. Pain radiates throughout his whole body; his nose throbs, and he tentatively touches it, but luckily no blood coats his fingers.  

“Why the fuck is your face so hard!?” are Lance’s first words this morning.

“My face? What about your head? It’s like a fucking brick.”

Lance’s glare is as sharp as a viper’s, even this earlier in the day. “You want to go, ponytail!?”

“Ponytail? Now that’s a new one, which is weird because I thought you  _ liked  _ it when I tied my hair back.”

Lance freezes, his aggravated breathing decreasing and his eyes widening slightly in thought. “That is not the point of this conversation.”

“Okay, so then what is?” Crossing his arms, Keith rocks back on his heels, eager to hear Lance’s response.

Lance continues to gap like a fish, sleep obliviously not having vanished completely from his mind yet. “Why, why are you so infuriating this morning? Like can’t we have a normal conversation, starting with ‘Good morning, Lance, sleep well?’”

Keith groans, his nose aching. “Normal conversation, my ass! You’re the one who wanted to start a fight when you can barely stand.” 

“Oh my,” Sandra laughs on the sidelines, “you guys are fantastic.”

“You can just shut up,” Lance snaps sourly.

“Someone's not a morning person. Breakfast?” One of those disgusting food bars balances in her hand, it’s shiny silver packaging a trap for all who attempt to eat it.

“No thanks,” Lance waves his hand at the food, though his stomach rumbles in response, “I’ll pass.”

Lance’s gurgling stomach serenades their walk through the forest. Embarrassed, he rubs his hand over his belly, trying to calm it down. With every echo of a sound, Sandra’s eyes glaze into a scolding motherly glare that Lance pretends not to catch. It’s an hour into walking when Lance’s voice finally overpowers his stomach, but he does not ask for food.

“Hey, Keith, look at this.” To Keith’s ears, the tone of Lance’s voice hangs on the precipice between worried and nonchalant. But those blue eyes tip the balance as they become an ocean of unrest. Lance has walked a little ways away from the makeshift path, his tracks visible on the sticky, muddy ground. 

And to Keith’s surprise, buried partially in the dirt lie their ruined Paladin uniforms. The blues and reds from the suits are still vibrant in the dusty browns and greens of the wilderness around them. Some animal or insect had taken a chunk out of the white of Keith’s suit, the jagged teeth marks a weapon. And he spots droplets of dried blood on the stained collar. 

Keith kicks the discarded uniforms. “Well, these are garbage.” 

“Hopefully Allura has replacements.”

“Hopefully Shiro won’t blow a gasket when he finds out we destroyed our stuff.” Laughter surrounds them, the harmonious sound lighting up smiles on everyone’s faces.

Keith clears his throat, and when he speaks, he lowers his voice, an obvious--terrible--imitation. “I am very disappointed in both of you.”

“He would though, he would.”

But before Keith can part his lips, whether to chuckle or add more to this conversation, Lance’s stomach screams in an angry grumble, loud enough for Sandra’s body to jump slightly and for something in the leaves to skitter away. Grudgingly, Lance ends up accepting a food bar--not that he had a choice with Sandra forcefully thrusting it into his hands.

Keith watches with curiosity as Lance hesitantly takes a bite out of the chewy, brown bar. He watches Lance’s adam’s apple bob up and down when swallowing, tracing the angles of his neck. Heat races to his cheeks. Keith’s concentration crackles with the sudden flick of Lance’s arm, sending the food bar flying into the brush behind them.

“Yeah, I’m not eating that.” Lance swings his head in both directions, the suns’ rays highlighting his profile. “I’m going to go find something…”

“I don’t think that’s a good-- and you’re already walking away.” Sandra stands to Keith’s right, shaking her head as Lance wanders off the path; her brown curls bounce. 

“Something bad is going to happen, isn’t it?” Keith grumbles, crossing his arms in a huff. Lance is a blue and gray blot in the distance.

She tilts her head, thinking, though not for long. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but yes, I’d say there is a strong possibility.” 

And they stand together, shoulders almost brushing, as they watch--slightly in horror and slightly in amusement--Lance trample through the forest.

“Keith! Come over here, I want to give you something.” Lance’s faded voice floats on the breeze.

Blinking, he refocuses his gaze. “Okay,” Keith replies cautiously.

He steps over loose rocks and fallen branches to be presented with berries. Fucking  _ berries.  _ The black ink of the fruit stains Lance’s brown skin, and he pops another in his mouth. A soft sigh of pleasure seeps out from Lance’s puckered lips. “You should really try these,” he says, holding up a stained hand to Keith. Perfectly round berries roll around in the center of his palm.

“No,” Keith responds, closing Lance’s fingers over the berries. “You shouldn’t be eating them either.”

“I needed to wash that God awful taste out of my mouth. And I was still hungry.”

“So you ate the first thing you saw,” Keith concludes shaking his head at Lance.

He grins, the corners of his lips curving. “And luckily the first thing I saw tasted absolutely delicious.” But now Keith notices that Lance’s face has considerably paled, his rosy coloring fading. His bright dark blue eyes dulling.

“You don’t look so good, Lance.” Keith places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I--I feel fine.” Lance slings his arm around Keith’s torso, drawing him closer. “Hey, I never gave you that thing.”

“The berries weren’t it?” Keith asks, utterly confused. 

“Nope.” 

The soft, slightly sticky, lips of Lance press against Keith’s cheek. Tingles and sparks spring from that one spot of contact, a flower blooming in the early spring. His body stiffens, and before his mind can accurately understand what’s happening, there’s a sad pop of Lance’s lips releasing from his skin. The moment is over too quickly.

“There you go. Now I think I’m going to rest for awhile.” Lance promptly collapses in Keith’s arms.

* * *

“What were those berries?” Keith finally inquires, curiosity taking over his speech. His hand, subconsciously, rests over his cheek, the place of first contact.

Lance has curled himself into a ball; a thread worn blanket is draped over his practically comatose form. Keith watches in amusement as Lance begins to drool. He wishes he had a way to document this to show Pidge.    


Sandra quietly tends to their newborn fire. She doesn’t speak until Keith is looking at her. “They’re said to bring out one's deepest desires.”

Keith’s mouth cracks open and nothing else is uttered between the two. 

* * *

“Oh, man I feel like I’ve drank like ten beers.” Lance scratches his head, flattening the strands that stick up from sleep. He squints his eyes, trying to block out the mid afternoon suns. 

Keith turns to face his companion. “And how do you know what a hangover feels like?”

“I live a risque life--” a pointed glare from Keith “--okay, okay someone at the Garrison dared me that I couldn’t steal Iverson’s alcohol supply.  And when I successfully accomplished that task, I may have had a victory drink or two or five.”

“You’re such an idiot. No more eating strange foods unless Sandra says it’s okay.”

“I second that statement,” Sandra confirms with a nod, “Both parts of it.”

“I’ve been awake for two minutes and I’m already being attacked!” he screeches.

“Drama queen.”

“Emo king.”

Keith scrunches his face in distaste as Lance occupies himself by crawling towards the fire. His hands are out in front of him, stealing the warmth from the flames.  

Lance cocks his head to the side, preparing to speak. “Did I do anything strange while I was… high?”

Sandra unsuccessfully holds back a laugh. “Actually, you--”

“Nope, not a thing. You were like your normal loopy self.” Keith adds in a nervous laugh for good measure.

Lance narrows his eyes, as if zeroing in on Keith’s BS. “I don’t believe that. But I am just going to assume I did something completely embarrassing and you’re saving me from it.”

“Yeah, it was something like that.” Sandra cracks a large smile.

Keith’s death glare does not go unnoticed by Lance.

By the time they reach the site they’ve been searching for, the memory of Lance’s lips on his skin has replayed in Keith’s head too many times. With a shake of his head, the memory is replaced with the view of their lions. 

Broken trees and deep scratches in Earth mark their descent to this planet. The red lion’s nose is buried deep into the ground, its tail limp and bent and its outer hull supporting a ragged gouge. The blue lion fairs no better; it had crashed on its side, many meters away. The yellow eyes have lost its light and one of its legs appears to be snapped.

“My poor baby,” Lance whimpers. Keith wishes he had to strength to say something, but the state of Red has captured his words.  

They make it to Red first, the closer of the two lions. Its upper hatch still hangs open from when he and Lance left. Immediately Keith’s nails claw into the metal, finding handholds as he climbs the otherwise slippery smooth surface. When they scramble to the top, the whole world lies before them, but Keith ignores the picture, and instead peers into the darkness within his lion. Sandra shines her flashlight, chasing the shadows to far corners. He drops down without hesitation.  His blood, still staining the floor of the cockpit, greets him upon arrival.

It smells like vomit, the scent tickles his nose. It smells like death. The soft thump of Sandra and Lance landing beside him soon breaks the ominous silence. The fluorescent light brushes over scorched control panels and a cracked helmet. And his heart sinks even lower; hope has been exterminated within him.

“Shit, okay this might be more complicated than I anticipated,” Sandra says, running a frustrated hand through her hair.  

The soles of Lance’s shoes squeak. “I’m go-going to check on Blue. I need… have to check on her.”

Sandra’s sad eyes lock onto his shadowed face. “Of course. We’ll be here if you need anything.” Lance noiselessly climbs out of Red. 

Keith’s gray eyes quiver as he tries to call up their connection. But his lion is mute, leaving him emptier than when he was under the dome. Sandra sets her flashlight at an optimal angle, casting light directly at the unresponsive control panels. 

As she starts to run her hands over the controls, a melodic hum escapes from her mouth. It forms into a familiar tune, and Keith whips his head in her direction. A dream, many dreams have haunted him with that same melody ever since he crashed on this planet. Though the images never stay with him come morning, that tune has never been forgotten. His head begins to pound, the manufactured light blinding him.

“What are you humming?” Keith demands.

The song ceases in its tune. “W-what?” Sandra asks, completely stunned. 

“That melody, song, lullaby thing you were humming. What is that?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised you remembered that,” she mumbles, her words barely reaching his ears. “It goes like this:

_ I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love _

_ I'd a pluck a red rose blowin' _

_ Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove _

_ What your heart's knowin' _

 

_ I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn _

_ I'd a pluck a finger bleedin' _

_ Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn _

_ And your heart needin' _

 

_ I'd a hold a finger to my tongue _

_ I'd a hold a finger waitin' _

_ My heart is sore, until it joins in song _

_ With your heart matin' _

Even as her voice fades into the metal work of the lion, it stays in Keith’s mind, continuously playing over and over again, now complete. “Why do I know that song? Sandra, what aren’t you telling me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is from Poldark. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FarhP0O95dg
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	10. Chapter 10

Jumping down into Blue is just as devastating as when he dropped down into Keith’s lion--the Blue Lion smells better though, if any shred of positivity can be found in this ordeal. But the semblance of death still clings to the air, wrapping its fowl limbs around anything it can find. Lance feels sick, dread descending onto his body, clutching him tight in an unwanted embrace.  

The air is stale, choking him.

A thick wad of smoke hangs in front of his vision, stinging his eyes. The cloud swirls around him, weaving through his fingers and hair. It floats from a control panel still sparking and small orange flames lick at the metal, scorching its once pristine surface. He bats out the electrical fire with his sweatjacket, and frowns, realizing he hadn’t thought that part of the plan through as he stares incredulously through a charred hole in his jacket, the material crumbling to ash in his fingers. His fingertips become smeared with the stuff, and his plain shirt now has a pattern of black streaks. He had to wipe his hands somewhere.

“At least the fire’s out,” he mumbles. 

Lance pushes smoke away with the wave of his hands, clearing a path of sight. His flashlight shines a steady beam of pure white light, only capturing a portion of his lion. Only capturing a portion of the destruction.

“Blue, if you can hear me, give me a sign!” he yells to the shadows that lazily occupy the corners and nooks. 

Nothing. Not a blink of a light, not a creak of the metal, not a flicker of sparks. The sudden wavering of his flashlight draws Lance’s eyes back from the darkness. Three blinks and the beam of light fades until the little bulb behind the glass is cold and dead. He stares at the flashlight, unconcerned with the blackness that has now encroached over his hand and body and every visible place of his lion.

“Are you kidding me? What a stupid piece of junk!” Lance continues to wave the flashlight up and down, as if it would turn on with just one more shake. “You know what,” he calls out to Blue this time, “I’m going to take that as a sign. I’m going to pretend you’re still working, Blue. But a less ominous sign would have sufficed!”  

As he expected, Blue does not answer back, and angrily, his hands squeezing the rubber grip of the flashlight, he chucks the item at the far wall. It clangs against the metal; the glass bulb shatters as the flashlight falls to the floor with a heavy clunk. 

Lance buries his face in his hands, tears threatening to streak across his brown skin, dusted with a thin layer of dirt from sleeping outside. It irritates him, the way he can practically feel every grain working its way into his pores. When the tears do fall, his blue eyes are open, scanning the darkness. For something, for anything  _ hopeful _ .

Lance wishes he never crashed on this planet; right now he wants to be in the castle, snuggled under fluffy blankets, cuddling with that stuffed blue lion he found tucked away in the closet, it’s sad, stitched on eyes calling to Lance. He wants every one of his fellow Paladins to be safe, wherever they are. Lance wants Keith to be safe; he’s seen the way Keith has been affected by this trip. For better or for worse Lance doesn’t know, but Keith seems to have found a piece of his missing family. Or at least he knows where he comes from. But, Lance mentally sighs, if he is honest with himself--because right now that’s all he can really be--he wishes he is back on Earth, never having found Voltron. Lance misses his family, and Keith’s own discovery has only escalated that feeling. 

And suddenly, as if his silent prayers had been answered, there is the unmistakeable scent of Varadero Beach swirling through the air, a place where he would spend most of his annual summer vacations visiting his  _ abuelos, primos,  _ and other relatives _. _

And suddenly,  a blue, impossibly bright, light echoes in the darkness. Painting the interior a soft baby blue, folding across Lance’s features and causing his tears to vanish.    

The presence of Blue is back in full force, physically slamming Lance against the wall as he staggers with the weight of his connection back inside of him. It wraps around him in a loving embrace, chasing away the darkness, the warmth from the hug trickling into his blood that carries it throughout his body.  

“You’re back,” he sobs, hugging the wall of his lion, his arms stretched out far to cover the vast expanse. 

Lance’s ears twitch as he hears a murmur, a hum traveling up from the engine and vibrating through the metal work. But it’s still jagged, reaching him in an off beat, scattered rhythm. “Stay alive, Blue. I know you can do it for me. Stay alive a little longer and a  _ very  _ nice lady will help you.” 

A mechanical purr wirs its way through the intercom, a sad welcome home. Lance sits in the pilot’s seat, the control panels finally blinking back to life. The screen is in a firtz though, the image fading in and out. It’s all pixelated and jagged. But Lance is still able to understand the fragmented images of Blue trying to indicate her damaged spots. Her back leg stands out to him first, highlighted in a dark, ugly red. The rest appear to be eternal. There are no hull breaches, and even though weapons seem to be inoperable--Lance fiddles with the controls for a few minutes before giving up and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand--Blue can fly if given a little longer to rest and recharge. The lions are pretty much magical creatures after all, at leasts that’s all Lance’s human mind can comprehend. 

A green light, pulsing at the bottom of the display screen, startles him. This is new. 

“Blue, what’s this?” Lance asks, mostly to himself, though part of him wouldn’t mind his lion answering him. 

Fuzzy images pop up on the viewing screen, but Blue is unable to portray a coherent thought. Yet three letters, translated into the English alphabet, sporadically flash in Lance’s line of sight. “An sos?” his voice cracks. 

An affirmative whine from Blue elevates Lance’s depleted hope. “H-has anyone answered?” he asks hesitantly.  _ The Castle of Lions must have picked it up on long range sensors, unless,  _ Lance’s mind suddenly submerges into a dark thought,  _ they were destroyed in the shitfest that was the crumbling wormhole. _

The lion is silent, the only sound being Lance’s labored breathing and trembling hands. His foot taps against the metal floor in impatience. “No? Is that your way of telling me no one has picked up our signal? Honestly, you would’ve thought that the Galra at least would have caught it. Uhh--” Lance licks his chapped lips “--scratch that. I can’t jinx us.”   

His head slumps forward hitting against the controls. He wonders how Keith is doing, if Sandra was able to make any more progress on Red, who appeared more damaged than Blue. At least Lance’s connection with his lion has been reforged; he can’t say the same for Keith. But he knows how his companion feels. It’s painful, as if a part of you has been ripped out. Only now, Lance’s missing piece has been haphazardly placed back inside him. His connection with Blue isn’t perfect--he doesn’t know if it will ever be again--but at least it’s there, buzzing inside him. 

The Blue Lion roars suddenly, and the unexpected force throws Lance back into the chair as Blue weakly stands on three legs. Without Lance controlling her, she hobbles over to the Red Lion, gently nudging her snout into Red’s side. A sharp whine echoes throughout the cockpit and Lance frowns, his thoughts flooding with images of the wounded, lifeless lion. 

“I know, baby, she doesn’t look good. But don’t worry, she’s in the best hands. Don’t worry,” Lance’s soft voice soothes his lion, “But first let's work on boosting that signal.”

* * *

Before Sandra can speak, a howl filters its way into the Red Lion through the open hatch. Keith’s lion gently rocks, as if sailing on the sea. He scrambles over the dark control panel and stares out the window, cupping his hands around his eyes to focus his vision. 

Outside stands the Blue Lion, nudging the side of Red. Unsatisfied with her examination, she lays her massive mechanical head right beside the Red Lion, her yellow, unblinking eyes peering at them. If the display window wasn't in front of Keith, he could have reached out and touched the metal work of her nose. A low, almost mournful if Keith listened carefully to the pitch, howl is released from Blue’s mouth.

A shiver runs down Keith’s spine, knowing that the sound can’t be a promising omen. But Red has to be alive, she just has to be. Keith stares at Blue for a couple of more heart beats, wondering if Lance will pop out anytime soon. But he doesn’t, and Keith’s frowning gaze snakes its way over to Sandra again.   

Her golden orange eyes stare into his soul, dripping with emotions. Her hands grip the top of the pilot's chair, waiting for the storm that is about to erupt. 

“Why did I recognize that song?” Keith’s not angry with having to repeat himself. In fact, he’s calm now, Sandra’s lullaby having already settled into his bones. Keith still might be confused, but he’s been confused before and will be again. He can wait for answers; he’s been waiting all his life. 

“I-I sang it to you when you were a baby?” Sandra poses her response as a question, but Keith knows it’s the truth. How could it not be?

But the worry, the fear, in Sandra’s uniquely colored eyes has him hesitating on the thousands of questions that are piling up in his brain. Something is telling him not to push any further, almost as if he won’t like what he finds. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. But Keith has begun fiddling with his hands, anticipation already working its way into his muscles as he tries to find the correct way to word certain pieces to the puzzle. But instead because his mind can not handle the wait, he blurts out the first question that filters from his brain to his mouth.

“Are you my mother?”

She shakes her head; there is a hint of a laugh on her lips. “No, but I am related to you. I’m your  _kuik_ _,_ your mother’s sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared to find out about a part of Keith’s family next chapter:) 
> 
> Translations:  
> abuelos, primos- grandparents, cousins  
> kuik- aunt (I literally just used a random alien language generator since the Tazeron language shouldn't be identicaly to English)
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Carrie Fisher who was the original Space Mom. May the force be with you.

“My aunt? You’re my aunt?”

“To be fair, I helped take care of you the same amount as your mother. You were a rambunctious baby so it was a duel effort.”

Keith has to shake his head in disbelief. All his life he’s been searching for his parents, whether at the Garrison using their computers, or in his shack, flipping through memories that might lead him to his parents. But after all this time, he finds out that he’s not even  _ human.  _ Not that it’s bad to be from another planet or to be considered an alien now.

It’s just shocking.

But as Keith gazes into Sandra’s deep orange eyes that reflect a sunset as he remembers them back on Earth, he wouldn’t want it any other way. Keith may not have found his parents in time, but he still has managed to find some remnants of a family. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” Keith says at last, “I wouldn’t have been comfortable with anyone else.”

Sandra’s shoulders fall in relief, the stiffness draining out of her as if the weight of the entire galaxy has been lifted off her. “Your mother would be proud of the man you’ve become.  _ I’m  _ proud of you.” A large smile graces her face, and Keith absorbs all he can, but soon darkness rolls into the corner of her eyes, her expression dimming.

“What?” Keith asks, his hands clutching onto her as she refuses to look at him. “What is it?”

“There is something I should tell you, about your f--”

The Red Lion rocks again, Blue continuing with her nudging. The movement unexpected, Keith is ripped away from Sandra’s grip, tumbling to the other side of his lion as Blue practically tips them over.  _ What the hell, Lance?  _ Keith thinks before his head slams into the metal wall, hard. While Sandra, picking herself up from the floor, looks at him with concern, Keith has to focus on the pain behind his eyes, as the world disappears for a minute. He grits his teeth, balancing his body by leaning on the wall. The pain is sharp and merciless, piercing his mind like an arrow. It’s like his concussion all over again. Silently he groans; outwardly he opens his eyes and smiles, telling Sandra everything’s fine.

But the pain doesn’t leave, and he absentmindedly scratches at his skin, his mind acting crazy like millions and millions of bugs are crawling under his skin and he just  _ has  _ to get them out. His fingernails painfully scrape over his forearms. When his mind is able to refocus again, he frowns at the sudden appearance of a dark bruise on his arm. A bruise that’s more purple than usual.

Sandra suddenly grips his forearm, forcefully prying his fingers away from his skin. The concern on her face never leaves Keith’s memories. “Stop it! You're hurting yourself.”

Small cuts shaped like crescent moons bleed slightly, sprinkled around the purple bruise. “S-sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

A stern motherly gaze washes over Keith as Sandra tips his head up to look at her. “Are you sure you’re all ri--”

Sandra is interrupted for the second time that day, as Lance comes falling through the hatch in the ceiling, calling out as he lands. “Sorry ‘bout that folks. I don’t know what came over Blue.”  

When Lance’s feet finally touch the metal flooring, he peers around the space. His blue eyes finally land on Keith, his mouth parting slightly. “You look different,” is Lance’s first comment upon looking at him. “Your eyes…"

Keith’s defensive nature is back up in a flash, his shoulders set back and his jaw ticking into place. “What about my eyes?”

“N-nothing.” Lance taps a finger on his chin, perhaps deep in thought and preparing his words carefully before speaking. 

Keith notices how Sandra’s eyes subtly flicker to him, his face specifically. But like Lance, Sandra doesn’t comment any further and neither will Keith. Though for the first time in his life Keith wants to get a hold of a mirror. Sandra clears her throat before he can act on the impulse. “Let’s get back on track. Is something wrong with your lion, Lance?”

Grateful that the attention is off him, Keith sets his full focus onto the Blue Paladin. The back of his mind still continuously working, creating theories and ideas for the strange reaction that came from his other companion. 

“My lion is very weak. She--I’m pretty sure she can fly; fighting the Galra is another matter altogether.” Lance looks like he’s on the verge of tears, blinking rapidly. “She did send out an SOS though, so hopefully the castle can pick it up...”

“And not the Galra,” Keith mumbles the rest of Lance’s sentence.

Sandra’s brows knit together, absorbing the new information. “What’s an SOS?”

“Distress signal,” Keith answers before Lance. Sometimes it’s hard to forget they’re not on Earth.

“What about you guys?” Surprisingly, Lance inches closer to Keith, and a hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing him gently. “Are  _ you  _ alright?”

Keith stutters for a response. He is inches away from Lance, able to see clearly every different shade of blue that makes up his eyes and the light freckles that dust his nose. Keith blinks, keeping his eyes closed longer than he has to. And the ground rocks beneath his feet. Blindly Keith reaches out to stable himself. His hand finds Lance’s waist; Keith grips the fabric of his shirt. The ground sways for a second more before it stops. 

When he finally opens his eyes, Lance is even closer than before, only a hair’s breadth away this time.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Lance tilts his head in concern, but doesn’t make any motion to back away. 

“I’ll be fine, just felt dizzy for a second.”

“Are you sure?” Sandra pipes up from behind them. “You don’t look well at all.” And suddenly Keith becomes an attraction at a zoo, all eyes on him. But he keeps his attention only on Lance.

“I’ll be fine,” Keith continues to insist. “Let’s just work on Red, she’s in worse shape than Blue.”

_ (Keith never does completely detach from Lance’s side, not that either of them mind.) _

* * *

Lance snores, sleeping to the right of Keith, who stares wide awake at the twinkling stars, spanning farther than what he can see. Sandra quietly tends to the fire. Sparks scatter around Keith’s head as a log drops deeper into the flames. The cold night air whispers through the trees, wrapping around him.

“Sandra,” Keith quietly calls out.

“Yes?”

“Are you my only family left?”  _ Grandparents? Other aunts or uncles? A father perhaps? _

Her orange eyes mirror the fire. “Y-yes.” The small stutter may indicate she’s lying but Keith doesn’t want to question it. A beat of silence passes through the forest before she speaks again. “You’re not my son, Keith, but I always thought of you as my own. And now you’re the only thing I have left of my family.” Sandra takes a deep breath. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I would love to be a part of your life, maybe, maybe even as a mother to you?”

As tears well up in his eyes, Keith walks closer, settling down next to her on the fallen log. “I would love that. I’ve never had a  _ real  _ family before.”

Her arms wrap around his trembling body, and she whispers into his ear. “Thank you, Keith. This means the world to me.” 

They stay together, each drawing strength from the other. His nose buries itself into her chocolate curls as he unashamedly cries. Though she may not be his real mother, he’s never felt this safe and this loved in anyone else's arms. She smells like lilac in the spring; she smells of home.

When the tears run dry, Keith finally picks up his head from her shoulder. He glances over at Lance, who smiles in his sleep, his lips curling slightly, but he has not woken up. Keith turns his attention back to Sandra, as she continues to rub soothing circles on his back. 

“Your mother originally named you Keun, though I’m sure you’ll stick with Keith.”

He nods, affirming her initial guess, though he will remember that name, keeping it close to his heart like a secret. “Is there anything you can tell me about my mother?”

“Of course. Her name was Nari and she had beautiful black hair, just like yours.” Her hand cards through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “And her bright yellow eyes could see into anyone. She was kind and loving and selfless and didn’t deserve the horror that happened to her.”

“What did happen?” Keith is hesitant to ask, but he must know.

“Let me tell you a story.”

* * *

_ “Nari, you can’t go; you can’t run like some coward,” Sandra says to her sister, watching her bounce Keun on her lap. He’s about one year old now, happily chewing away on some toy. He looks more like his father’s species than Nari herself, though Keun did inherit her eye and hair color.  _

_ Sandra tickles the baby’s stomach while waiting for Nari to respond; Keun gurgles in laughter, grabbing hold of her finger and neglecting the toy.  _

_ “If I run he will follow me, and won’t bother with this planet. If one good thing comes out of this, besides Keun of course,” Nari tossels her son’s hair, threading her fingers through it as she continues to bounce him. “It will be that he leaves this planet alone.” _

_ “I don’t want you to leave.” Sandra looks up at her sister; her black hair is pinned back, a lock or two framing her face, and her yellow eyes over burdened with sadness.  _

_ “I know, San. But you’re still young and you can make a life for yourself without being bothered by us. Make us proud, little sister.” _

_ More arguments come and go as the day of departure grows ever closer. Sandra often keeps Keun busy while Nari packs. She’ll miss both of them terribly; they’re the only family she has left. But soon enough, she’s hugging Nari good-bye and placing one last kiss on top of Keun’s forehead for good luck. _

_ “Be good for mama, alright?” But Keun doesn’t respond, content with pawing at his mother’s hair instead.  _

_ Sandra’s gaze is strong when she turns back to Nari. “Now you get a transport off that station as soon as you can.” _

_ “Yes, San, I have it all figured out. I’ll write to you once a day if I’m able, at least until me and Keun find a suitable home.”  _ That’s when contact will have to cease _ , Sandra thinks grimly.  _

_ There are more departing hugs and Sandra is left on the loading dock alone, watching the cargo ship fly out of the dome and disappear into the sky.    _

_ Two letters arrive for Sandra and then all communication ceases. Worry eats away at her mind (though she knows Nari has probably already found a new planet), and Sandra continues on, enrolling in the military and beginning to create a career for herself. She needs something to do now, not able to stand being alone with her thoughts and the empty apartment she now lives in.   _

_ A month or two later is when Sandra starts to pick up tidbits of information from the senior officers that surround her. How an allied station was attacked by the Galra; how there have been no recorded survivors so far. How it’s too late to send any sort of rescue to help the poor souls. A week after the rumors started, Sandra is finally able to get the physical file in her hand. _

_ Nari’s name spelled out in bold black ink is one of the first under the casualty list. Seven Tazerons out of the one thousand reported deaths died on that station, but Sandra can only focus on her sister’s name. There’s no mention of Keun, but she assumes he’s dead too. _

_ Sandra’s life has been ill fated from the start, and she sinks down, leaning against the wall as silent tears glide down her face. The light from the window making them sparkle.  _

* * *

Keith’s nails dig into his leg as he seethes in anger. Parts of his arm and hand are almost completely purple now. And it puzzled him. “It’s always the Galra, isn’t it?”  _ Not only did those shits wipe out Allura’s people, they killed his mother too.  _

“Somehow you survived though, Keith,” Sandra replies gently, “And that’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

Keith’s eyes continue to flood with anger.  _ He’s going to kill the Galra.  _ “What about my father? You haven’t mentioned anything about him.”

She bites her lips, her orange eyes filled with worry. “I don’t think you’re ready for the truth; though--” she glances down at his hand “--you might need it soon.”

“Please, you have to tell me. I don’t care if he was some asshole scum who left my mother. I just want to know about my family.”

“I don’t think you want to.”

“Please, Sandra,” Keith begs, his voice cracking.

“Fine; I guess you’re going to find out sooner or later anyways.” She grasps his hands, her eyes shinning with truth as she says “You’re father was Galra.”

The patches of purple skin are starting to make sense now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update of the year; see you all in 2017!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Hunk!!!

Every inch of his skin holds a purplish tint now; even where patches of skin are not yet covered in a dark purple hue, the faintest shade of lavender can clearly be seen. He’s a patchwork quilt, not quite finished. Purple, like a disease, crawls its way across his skin, infecting every inch of him. Even as he sits there with Sandra in front of him, it continues to grow. His nails are becoming sharper too, elongating into claws. 

“Who is or was my father?” Keith growls. His tongue juts out across his teeth; newly formed, longer incisors prick his tongue. Soreness creeps into every part of him: his mouth, his hands, his skin. It’s like his whole body has fallen under the impression that he has jogged five miles uphill. Exhaustion weighs heavily on his frame. 

“She would never divulge his name exactly, just telling me he was someone  _ very  _ powerful in the empire.”

One name plainly sticks out in his mind, but no, Keith will not go there. Not right now. One problem at a time, and currently that problem involves fixing these lions. But there is another one, a problem that lingers in the corner of his mind as his eyes drift to the sleeping form of Lance. What is he going to tell Lance?

It’s too late to hide it now.

So Keith stares at the fire, watching the flames dance, content with their purpose in life, and he dreads the coming morning. Anxiety tingles in his fingers, flowing throughout his body almost as fast as this transformation. His hands tremble and Sandra’s presence is just enough to help control his racing heart and erratic breathing and dizziness that swims around his head. She’s enough to quell an oncoming panic attack; he hasn’t had one since the official announcement of Shiro’s disappearance and alleged pilot error. 

When one of the twin suns rises over the trees, its brother not far behind, Keith’s claws dig into his skin. Sharp enough to nick his skin, his thick nails are stained and Keith watches with fascination as his blood still runs red. At least he can still hold onto some part of his humanness.

Lance wakes up soon enough, rolling over and stretching his arms above his head. A cute yawn escapes from his chapped lips. His eyes skirt around their campsite, lingering on the tree line and the lions. Insects or birds or whatever type of animals inhabit this planet scatter from the trees cawing and clicking before Lance finally settles on Keith. Words apparently die even before leaving Lance’s tongue, as he’s stuck floundering. Mouth flapping open and closed until he regains enough control of his thoughts to spit out three words.  

“What the  _ hell _ ?” Lance sputters out, fully absorbing Keith’s new look. He’s rigid, hands clenched by his side, and his jaw dropped in shock. 

Closing his eyes for a second, Keith sucks in a breath, preparing for the storm that is soon to come. This is one certainty he could not have avoided. A hand claps onto his shoulder, and it takes him a few milliseconds to recognize Sandra’s familiar grip. But he can’t look at her face right now, his eyes still closed, not exactly ready to face the world. 

“I think you boys need some time alone… to get caught up. Holler if you need me.” By the time Keith’s eyes crack open, Sandra has walked over to the Red Lion, scurrying inside before Keith can call her back for support. 

They’re two opposing forces facing each other, their eyes locked onto their targets: each other. They wait for the first person to break the silence and speak what’s on their minds. Tilting his head, Lance quirks his lips but does little else.

Keith takes the leap forward. “I know what it looks like but I swear I--”

“You’re purple!”

His foot slides backwards, surprised by Lance’s enthusiasm. “Y-yeah.”

“And your eyes are almost completely yellow.”

“They are?” Self consciously, a hand darts to his eyes, padding the skin underneath them. Why couldn’t his normal eyes have stayed? At least he would’ve looked more human that way. He has noticed a slight change in his vision though, as if most of the world’s colors have lost their vibrancy. Everything now dull and muted. 

Lance’s eyes continue to be a bright blue beacon.

There is another beat of silence before Lance vocalizes his next thought. “Your other half is Galra, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Utterly defeated on the inside, Keith masks his face in an air of indifference. 

Lance takes one step, then another and another until the only space between is so small that Keith could flick out his tongue and it would graze the tip of Lance’s nose. A hand caresses his cheek, delicately brushing over his purple skin as if expecting it to flake off with only a slight touch. “You’d think I should have expected this after finding your lost family and all this other craziness that’s happened to us.”

“Wait…” Keith narrows his eyes, jerking his head up to meet Lance in the eyes. 

Lance’s hand drops away and a sudden chill races through Keith’s body. “I was awake, Keith, when you were talking to Sandra. I fell asleep before she could tell you about your mom though. Was kinda hoping to stay awake for the whole thing but when sleep calls...”

“That was a  _ private  _ conversation,” Keith grounds out, gripping the fabric of Lance’s shirt before he can stop himself.

“So I just learned sooner rather than later, what’s the big deal?” His innocent smile does little to relieve Keith’s temper, but his grip loosens and he sheepily smoothes out the wrinkles of his shirt. 

“I guess. But you still shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations.”

Lance isn’t listening anymore, a new discovery demanding his complete attention. Keith squirms under his scrutiny. “What are these?” Lance asks innocently. His fingers comb through his, luckily, still black hair, weaving through until they hit against a large furry mass. One on either side of his head. 

“They’re my ears, you dolt!” He attempts to evade Lance’s touch, but it’s of no use. 

Lance paws with fascination at the large furry ears growing from where his human ears should have been. “Really? They’re so fluffy!” 

“Knock it off,” Keith replies without much anger. Light touches spread across his ears as Lance’s fascination continues to grow. 

His new form has utterly enraptured Lance. Warm fingers, leaving sparks in their wake, trail over Keith’s newly colored skin, gently brush over his claws, and thread through his hair. Lance practically explores every inch not covered by clothing, his attention never drifting.

“I deem you  _ officially  _ cool now,” Lance finally comments.  

Many sarcastic responses fly through Keith’s head, rapidly and without pause. But he doesn’t settle for any of them. Instead deciding on the one response he desperately needs to say. “T-thank you, Lance. For not seeing me as the enemy.”

Every ounce of teasing falls from Lance’s face, and in its place stands a heartwarming smile and a soft glow to his eyes. “You’ll never be my enemy, Keith. We may get into petty arguments, as usual, but I will  _ never  _ consider you an enemy no matter who you turn into.”

Keith’s lips struggle to stay nonchalance, stretching his face into an unwanted--but also very wanted--smile. Lance’s eyes sparkle, mirroring his gentle smile. But Keith’s own unwelcome feelings about his transformation bubble inside of him and he attempts to suppress them; a tight lipped smile does nothing to fool Lance though. Keith can easily tell as the light in his navy eyes rapidly fades and his lips twitch downwards. But to Lance’s credit, his mask does not break completely. And Keith can’t tell if he imagined the change or not because as he once again glances back at Lance’s features, everything is as it was before. 

Preparing to say more--whether with words filled with encouragements or more curious questions--a steady rhythm of footsteps interrupts them. Lance reluctantly backs away as Sandra walks closer and closer to them, having decided they had enough time to “catch up.”  _ She probably spied on our conversation, _ is Keith’s immediate thought. It’s pushed out of his mind quickly though as Keith notices with disappointment that there’s space between him and Lance now, too much space.  

“I do have one question though,” Lance announces once Sandra is back by their side, handing out breakfast in the form of protein bars. “Why is Keith’s Galra side finally emerging now?”

Sandra makes a peep of noise at his question. “There is something, that I probably should’ve spoken to you about when we first met, but for some reason I didn’t bother.”

“Go on,” Keith gestures to her with an impatient wave of his hand. 

“As you remember, we took you in for medical care. Well we did a full body scan on both of you to find out just who and what you were. And we found something interesting in Keith’s scan. He has a chip-like-device placed right at the base of his brain, but it was a little askew, like it was not quite sitting where it should be anymore.”  

No beat of silence nor a faint wisp of a breeze rustles between them before Lance speaks. “So if Pidge was here, I’d bet she’d theorize that it was to keep Keith’s Galra side in check, to make him appear human and was either knocked out of place when he got that concussion or has now dislodged completely when Blue might have jerked the Red Lion a little too hard,” Lance concludes.

“Yes,” Sandra affirms his theory, “his… transformation started right after that. I know Keith blacked out for a second or two as well, even if he was trying to fake it.”

Lane taps his chin, submerged in multiple thoughts. “It was like his memories unlocked too, especially after the crash. He was mumbling some weird shit when we were in the forest.”

“Why does Pidge always call you dumb?” It baffles Keith how quickly Lance can create this theory. One that’s probably correct too. Keith knows Lance is smart, probably smarter than him in some fields, and he always found Pidge’s insult or nickname or whatever it was supposed to be an odd one. Though Lance had been the only one who hadn’t realized Pidge’s gender…. 

A shrug is the quick answer. “To annoy me, probably. And probably because I did something  _ really  _ dumb like the second day after we meet.”

“What was it?” Keith’s words are filled with curiosity, his mind swimming with the possibilities.

“I’m not telling you. Pidge has enough blackmail material and I don’t need you in on it too.”

“As much as I would love to know what my future son-in-law did, we really have to get back to fixing these lions. You want to leave, right?” Sandra interrupts, her face tight with amusement and irritation.  _ Teenagers _ , her expression seems to say with a sarcastic roll of her fiery eyes. 

A startled yowl escapes from Keith’s curled lips. A deep navy blush floods his cheeks. “Sandra!”

“Of course,” Lance replies calmly, ignoring Keith’s outburst and the first part of Sandra’s sentence. “Come on, Keith, you can help me fix Blue.”   
  


Has it been an hour? Two? Keith isn’t quite sure, but how ever many hours have passed, he hasn’t been much help. Instead, he contently perches on the pilot's chair, handing Lance tools whenever he calls for them. If Lance is annoyed by his lack of effort, he hasn’t shown it. And Lance makes up for Keith’s lack of conversational abilities and quietly hums to himself, filling the Blue Lion with one of the purest melodies Keith has ever heard. 

“I think you’re purr-fect.” The rolling of the ‘rs’ causes Keith wrench his head to the side, staring at Lance with wide eyes--equal parts surprise, embarrassment, and annoyance swirl through his pupiless eyes.  

“My God, Lance.” Keith drags his large ears to the side of his head, as if that will cut off Lance’s horrible pick up lines and hide his most cat-like feature. 

Twirling a wrench in his hand, Lance smirks with innocence. “What?”

“S-stop,” Keith stutters, the navy blush conquering the color of his cheeks once again.

“Okay, but I still believe that you’re claw-some.”

Biting back a few swears pricking the tip of his tongue, Keith cocks his head in confusion, studying Lance and his nonchalant attitude. They’re completely alone here; no wildlife or family members can spy on them now. “I still can’t believe you’re not freaking out about this! I’m still freaking out about this!” Keith scratches at his purple skin, as if it’s a dirt spot that can be easily rubbed off. 

Lance’s playful expression is replaced with one of concern. He wraps a comforting arm around his Galra companion. “Just because you’re not human  _ and  _ half Galra, that doesn’t mean I’m going to hate you. I’m not freaking out because you're still Keith. You’re still Keith, now with pretty purple skin, yellow eyes, and big fluffy ears. You’re still my friend.”

Like everything else that has been going on in Keith’s life lately, he has no control over what he does next. His fingers bundle up in Lance’s shirt, dragging him closer until Keith is able to subtly arch his head, crashing his lips into Lance’s. As if expecting it, there is no hesitation in Lance’s movements, his lips rhythmically moving along and easily catching up with the momentum. Icy shivers race up Keith’s spine as Lance tangles his hands into his messy hair. When they part, both dizzy for air, Keith tries not to stupidly smile. 

He fails.  

“W-what was that?” Lance breathlessly asks, his forehead resting against Keith’s. His dark blue irises hog Keith’s entire vision.  _ His eyes really are beautiful,  _ Keith finally recognizes,  _ so many different shades of blue just to create one color.  _

A second passes before he is able to respond, his mind still fogged. “That was my way of showing thanks.”  _ For accepting me immediately. _

“Can you do it again?”

Keith just smiles, already leaning in to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won’t be updating this until after season 2 premieres so I hope when I see you next time, all our Klance dreams have come true.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	13. Chapter 13

Is Lance freaked out about Keith’s Galra transformation?  _ Yes, though just slightly. _ Will he ever admit that to Keith?  _ No, never, this small secret will die with him or hopefully become lost in his memories. _

It’s not that he’s disgusted by his friend--boyfriend?--looking like the enemy--he’s quite intrigued actually; it’s a good look for him. The purple and yellow and black is a complementing color palette for him. The fact is, waking up to someone with chinchilla ears, when only yesterday they were pretty much human, would freak anyone out. But the shock had drifted away as quickly as it had come. 

Now Lance finds himself here: locked in the embrace of his Galra boyfriend(?), their lips starving with hunger for each other. Lance barely notices Keith’s sharp nails digging into the skin of his back through his shirt. 

They break away with a quiet pop, and a rush of welcomed air floods his lungs, tickling his throat as his breathes in. An invisible string of saliva still connects them, but with a tiny jerk of Keith’s head, it snaps.

“I should get back to working,” Lance breathes.

“Of course,” Keith says, striding away from Lance and back to his very unhelpful position in the pilot’s chair. 

Rolling his eyes, Lance directs his attention away from Keith, allowing his senses to be overwhelmed with the emotions of his lion. She calls to him, pleading for help--more for Keith’s lion than for herself--and the anterior lights shine brighter, chasing away any shadows. He loses all sense of direction and reality as he spiritually melds with his lion, fully exploring her systems in a way he can’t with his physical form. He mends her, stitching her together with his soothing thoughts and his complete trust in her. The parts that were broken, he finds, had more to do with their connection than her physical body. Some systems, the corporeal, mechanical ones, are still beyond his ability to repair them--the weapons mainly--and Lance begins to tire from the over exertion of his mind. But Blue is no longer limping, mentally or physically; she is strong again.

Strong arms wrap around Lance’s lean frame, dragging his mind back into his physical form; Keith’s hot breath sends cold shivers down his spine, and goosebumps pepper his brown skin. It takes a second for his words to reach his tongue. “So being part Galra makes you clingy now?” 

“Shut up, Lance. You’re warm and the temperature is starting to drop in here.” Keith’s silky hair tickles the back of his neck. “You were gone for a good thirty minutes.” 

_ Thirty minutes?  _ It felt like it had been a century and a second at the same time. With his head still facing forward, Lance allows a smirk to creep up on his face as he leans back into the Red Paladin. “Are you a closet snuggler?”

“If you speak a word of this to anyone, I’ll feed you to my lion.” They slide to the floor in a tangled mess, Lance’s form crumpling form exhaustion. He hadn't realized that type of connection with his lion was possible until he tried it. 

Keith curls up by his side and one of Lance’s fingers dance around the exposed purple skin of Keith’s stomach where his shirt has risen slightly. The blinking lights of the control panels cast shadows onto their faces as they snuggle together, too tired to continue working on Lance’s lion and too engrossed in each other to even make an effort. A soft vibration from deep inside Keith runs through Lance’s finger, exploding throughout his whole body, a jostle of surprise shortly follows. 

“Did you just purr?”

A sharp glare from completely yellow eyes cuts deep into Lance, but it does little to warn him from continuing on. Lance’s ministrations are repeated, his finger creating invisible intricate patterns on Keith’s skin. He feels the vibrations again as Keith nuzzles his nose deeper into Lance’s hair and neck. 

“ _ Dios mío _ , you did purr!”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith mumbles against his skin, his breath fluttering as he grounds out the words halfheartedly.

“Hmm. Next you’ll be looking for a patch of sun to curl up in.” 

There’s a light punch to his shoulder. “Will you ever stop with the cat jokes?”

“Nope. It comes with the package of being in a relationship with me. Cat puns and other poorly timed cat jokes are free of charge.” 

A couple of seconds pass between them before Keith responds. A wayward hand finds its way into Lance’s grasp, and he intertwines his fingers with Keith. “A relationship? I’ve never had one of those before.”

A shock runs down the length of Lance’s body as he turns, looking directly into Keith’s yellow eyes, only slightly missing the different purple and gray hues.  _ Does that mean he had been Keith’s first kiss?  _ “Me neither. At least not a serious one I wanted to hold onto.”

“You know,” Keith pokes him in the chest, tracing the patterns of wrinkles and dirt stains from sleeping outside, “if you ever break my heart, you don’t want to be around when Shiro finds out.”

“And if you break  _ my  _ heart, well, there’s a different side of Hunk you haven’t met yet.”

But there will be no breaking of hearts in this relationship, not when Lance has finally found that one person he can laugh with and joke with and have pointless arguments with. Not when he has possibly found the person he can end up loving someday; though deep inside his heart, the feeling bubbling to the surface, he knows he already loves Keith. Lance has been in love for a long time.

“What do you think the rest of Paladins will say?” Keith’s question lingers.

“About us?” Lance’s brow narrows in thought. “Well part of me feels like they won’t care; though I’m sure Pidge will have some sarcastic things to say. As she always does.”

A small, beautiful laugh, one Lance wants to bottle up and keep forever, escapes from Keith’s lips, spilling over and collecting for eternity in Lance’s memory. “No, you idiot, I meant about me and my Galraness.”

“Aren’t we selfish today?” Lance teases.

“Says the man holding me hostage.” It’s true though, Lance’s arms are wrapped tightly around Keith’s lanky frame, barely allowing for any wiggle room. And there’s no chance for an escape attempt.

“Says the Galra who put us in this predicament to begin with,” Lance jests back. He bats at Keith’s fluffy ears again, still enamored by them.

“But seriously, do you think they’ll be okay with… it?”

You don’t need a genius like Pidge to figure out Keith is still uncomfortable with what happened to him, no matter how nonchalant he seems. It’s all just a mask, one that deteriorates every time he opens his mouth. “Of course, Keith,” Lance truthfully answers, “You have nothing to worry about.” And  _ Dios _ , Lance hopes he’s right. Many people on their team have been hurt by the Galra. But they’ve been a family for awhile now, and family doesn’t turn their back on family.

The suns begin to set, sending their last warm rays across Lance’s skin. His lashes flutter against his skin as his eyelids start to droop. The warmth radiating from Keith encases Lance in a blanket of sereneness, one that traps him in an unmemorable sleep. 

* * *

“Awww, look how cute you two are!” Sandra’s voice startles Keith awake; he unhappily jerks away from Lance’s weak grip, standing up to face his aunt. 

“Ah! Sandra. We were--uh I was--he was--” He cards a hand through his tangled hair, embarrassment flooding every inch of his face. Lance has flipped over, mumbling something about being a mermaid, but he makes no indications of having woken. But Keith takes his observations with a grain of salt; he knows Lance is good at pretending to be asleep.

“It’s okay, Keith.” A chuckle permeates the air. “I want to show you something. Let him rest. He’s had quite a couple of shocks for one day after all.” The wink tells him she means more than just Lance finding out he’s part Galra.

It’s morning again, Keith realizes, they’ve been sleeping for a long time. How long have they been out on this planet? How long have they been trying to fix their lions? How long have they been away from Earth? Keith doesn’t know anymore; he has lost himself to time as it passes around him. Morning rays lick over the horizon, illuminating the whole world. A new day. But the Red Lion is just as dark as before; the smell of rancid air and chard wires has almost drifted away, but a trace still lingers.  

“What did you want to show me?” Confusion is poorly disguised in Keith’s voice. A tremor races through his body; he spots his cracked helmet, thrown haphazardly to the side. Something--something small and almost overlooked--does tingle inside of him, where a large gaping hole has been for the past week or two. 

Sandra’s eyes are large and hopeful. “Try now. Try your connection.”

He doesn’t want to experience this emptiness any longer; he wants to push the dreadful feeling out of his body and away from his mind; he doesn’t want to remember this experience ever again. Keith doesn’t want to remember how it feels to loose his lion. So he stretches out with his mind and into Red’s.

It’s difficult at first, as if he has to punch through a brick wall and the only reward he has for his efforts is a swollen, bloody hand. But he never gives up, and he forces his mind to pound through the blockage that separates them. Keith stumbles for a moment, his legs buckling as he slides to the floor. He hears a slight cry of worry from Sandra, but she knows not to disturb him. This feeling must have been different for Lance, Keith muses still weaving in out of his mind and into Red’s. Blue had been partially functioning, allowing Lance to have better, easier access to his lion. 

A stronger connection is what they need and a stronger connection is what he’ll give her. Every emotion, every pain and suffering, every happy thought explodes into his mindscape. He shares every piece of himself with her. Every secret he has held close to his heart: his feelings for Lance--now exposed to the world--and his conflicted view on his transformation; he pulls many more out of him. After a few agonizing seconds, she responds in kind.  

Red wakes, life soaring into the control panels and lights and into their mental connection.

Keith opens his eyes with gasp, heaving as he tries to regain air back into his lungs. Beads of sweat trail down his cheeks. And his yellow eyes turn glassy as the warmth of love cascades into the empty chasm where Red’s connection used to be. She’s back and Keith feels whole again, now more than ever. 

The Red Lion moves for the first time. She arches her body out of the carter she made, her mouth opening wide. A roar rattles the entire forest. A large smile blossoms on Keith’s face, his pointed teeth exposed. 

“How did you know that would work? You must have fixed her!” For once, Keith is a stream of words and questions, unable to stop. 

Sandra shakes her head, her brown curls bouncing along with her. “I didn’t fix her, you did.” She pauses, collecting her thoughts. “I tried talking to her though, and with a great deal of surprise, she responded, in binary code of course and a faint flicker of a light. She seemed desperately worried about her paladin. But you can tell her you’re okay yourself.”

_ Red, thank you,  _ Keith says in the space of his mind shared between the two of them.  _ I don’t know what I would’ve have done without you. _

_ No, my Paladin, it’s I who should be thanking you. Without you, I am nothing.  _

She doesn’t respond with words exactly, but images pass into his mind with raw emotions attached and easily accessible. Keith understands her, as she will always understand him. 

He launches himself into the pilot’s chair, and without hesitation establishes a com link between him and the Blue Lion. 

“Lance, Lance, wake up,” Keith calls to him, his tone filled with joy. “We’re back in business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it:) The next chapter will also be another fillerish type thing and then the second half of the story starts:)
> 
> [SEASON 2 SPOILERS]   
> So Klance wasn’t canon but Galra Keith was! And I can't believe his mother is Galra not his father. And Prince Lotor is coming. OMG I am so excited for season 3.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A smut scene (it’s so tame it probably shouldn’t even be called a smut scene) is after the second line break. There is nothing explicit.

“Let’s go now.” Keith’s leg bounces in impatience, the heel of his shoes tapping against the metal flooring. “We can find them now, find everyone.” He swings his piercing gaze in Sandra’s direction, gauging her level of approval. 

A frown dips down on her face, her brows narrowed in thought. “No, we need to go back. Right now you have no supplies to make your journey; you don’t know how far away your friends are.” She pauses, eyes flicking between the Red and Blue lion. “You can fly the lions closer to the city though.”

Lance pipes in, his pensive face on the view screen. “I guess you’re right. One night in a nice warm bed won’t mess anything up.”

A warm bed and maybe some edible food for once and not those horrid protein bars. And hopefully then they can finally track down their friends; Keith prays that nothing serious has happened to the rest of Voltron in their absence. Keith hopes no one else was separated in the unstable wormhole and that they were all able to make it out alive. 

So the three companions leave the forest, a place that’s been like a home to them--at least for Keith and Lance--for more nights and days than Keith would like to admit. It’s sad in an odd way; he’ll most likely never set foot in that forest again. In the most likely scenario, he’ll probably never step foot on this planet again, once they leave in the morning.

From the corner of his eye, Keith subtlely glances at Sandra, who had decided to hitch a ride with him. That was a logical choice of course, but nevertheless Keith is still ecstatic that his last remaining family member (at least on his mother’s side) wants to stay close to him, learn about him, and care for him. Even though said family member had only known him for the first year of his life. It has Keith thinking, his sharp fangs pricking his lip as he scowls; will Sandra come with them?

He desperately wants her to be part of their Voltron team. But he also wants her to be safe, away from the Galra and their prying eyes. Sandra has a life here anyways; would she even want to give that up for the futile mission of trying to defeat a tyranny ten thousand years old?

Tomorrow will reveal that decision. So Keith concentrates on flying, coasting over the tops of the trees with the Blue Lion to the left of him. They’re finally in the air again, and Keith feels free. 

It’s a quick ten minute journey by lion over the treetops, something that took them a day or two by foot. But Lance still strikes up a conversation, his voice crackling over the coms.

“So do you have any idea who your dad is?”

Silence answers Lance’s impromptu question for a few seconds, and Sandra sends Keith a sideways look, one of curiosity. In a way, he knows who his father is, because with his luck how could it not be. “No.”

“He’s probably just some guard or someone with less of an importance.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  _ You’re  _ **_wrong_ ** _.  _

Because if there is one thing Keith knows about life, it’s that life is never fair. One always has to expect the worst. And that’s what Keith does right now, and that is why he is confident in guessing who his father is. Besides, his gut instincts are usually never wrong. 

His blood boils, furry lining his veins. But there’s always a chance of hope, and Keith tries to mentally grab onto it and hold it close. But he knows, he knows that his fingers only grasp air as the sliver of hope slips past him into the dark depths.  

* * *

It’s a very welcomed sight to see Sandra’s home as they round the corner of the street. Lights lining the walkway do little to help lead the way. They practically stumble home, blinded in the darkness (Keith fares slightly better than his companions though) and the path to her house is only confirmed during the random periods when an old-fashioned-earth-like car roars by them, the headlights scattering their shadows.

The door wines as it’s forced open with a sharp shove from Sandra’s shoulder. 

They’re all zombies as they sulk through the doorway, heads drooping, lips caught in a sleepy frown. Lance releases an unintelligible groan as he throws himself onto the couch. His head smashes into a faded pillow. But unlike them, a miniscule bit of energy still tingles inside of Keith, and he realizes, with slight awe, that his senses are heightened by his Galra transformation, something he didn’t notice out in the woods. He can detect the faint mustiness of the air from the house being closed up for several day; his nose can pick up the hidden whiff of earth the coats their clothes and skin and hair. It sharply clashes with the sweet fabric scent of her home that will always linger (physically and in Keith’s memories).

The room’s light pierces Keith’s wide eyes as Sandra unapologetically and unexpectedly turns it on. A quiet hiss is trapped behind his teeth. His large ears twitch as he hears the unmistakable sound of Sandra rummaging through draws. He ignores it in favor of watching Lance.

Keith slides over to Lance, lowering his head until Lance abruptly flips over, grabbing Keith’s face, and pulling him into a deep kiss. Eyelids fluttering, a moan escapes from his cracking lips. 

“Ehem,” Sandra coughs, a knowing look sent in their direction. “You two should probably go to bed; you’ve got a big day in front of you.” 

Lance readily shuffles off towards their shared room, his hand slowly sliding away from Keith’s face and his blue eyes never quite slipping away from view. But Sandra calls out to Keith right as he is about to follow. “Keith, catch. This is a ‘just in case.’”

A rectangular box lands in his hands with a soft thud. Not giving the contents a glance, he replies with a questioning gaze and scurries off, missing the satisfied smirk on Sandra’s face. 

Keith finds Lance staring solemnly at the bed, hip cocked and hair tousled as if he’d been furiously fluffing it. He spies the familiar cracks in the walls and ceilings, the ones he would trace to fall asleep when there hadn’t been a warm body beside him helping with the passage into the dreaming state. 

“You’re not going to make me sleep on the floor again, are you?” Lance cards a hand through his hair as Keith stares at the bed; it looks smaller than he remembers. 

“No. Who do you take me for?” Keith clasps Lance’s shirt, dragging him forward until he’s able to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. He’s about to lean in for a kiss when Lance interrupts him; a whine barely passes Keith’s lips before he is able to quell the sound. 

“Did Sandra give you space condoms?” A thin eyebrow arches upward. Amusement overpowers any other emotion on his features. 

Keith’s too shocked to be embarrassed; he turns the box over in his hands. “That would be a yes.”

His breath hitches as Lance leans in; their noses brush. “Wanna use them?” he ventures, his voice entangled with something else. Lust? Hope?...  _ Love _ .

“Only if you do.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah that sounds good. I wanna take a shower first though.” Lance scratches his skin and fingers a lock of his greasy hair. 

“Me too,” Keith remarks, the thin layer of dirt starting to overly irritate him. There are clumps of dirt underneath his elongated nails; he hasn’t noticed before. 

A smirk floods Lance’s features, his eyes colored in mischief. “Together?” 

“Not yet, Space Ranger. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” He presses his lips onto Lance’s cheek. “You gotta be patient, Lance.”

A chuckle explodes from Keith’s lips as he watches Lance rush to the bathroom, faster than he thought humanly possible. 

* * *

There are things Keith will always remember: The way Lance’s hands roam over Keith’s body, awakening him. The arch of his body as Lance peppers kisses along his neck. The sound Lance breathlessly moaning as Keith returns the favor.

Keith’s hair is still wet from his shower; droplets lightly splatter onto Lance’s dark skin as he shakes his head, laughter bubbling in his throat.

He’s never been so happy before; someone would probably call him giddy. But he can’t help it, especially not with a ridiculous smile plastered on his face and someone he loves kissing him like he’s the most important person in the world, in the universe even.

Keith knows he’s not, but it’s nice to pretend sometimes. But tonight doesn’t feel like pretend at all. 

Passion shines bright in Keith’s eyes, as Lance gazes at him with an abundance of love and endearment. Words--mostly of sweet nothings and flirtations--are whispered between them, passing across the miniscule space that separates their mouths from each other for a short period of time. 

Every inch that Lance’s roaming hands and lips reach a fire catches inside him, his mind crackling with mirth. He never realized he could feel these sensations before. They spark along his skin; flares shoot up his spine, feeding a hunger deep inside him. The rippling effects never fade. Lance lies beneath him, panting heavily, chipped nails scraping against his skin. Long, deep scratches, along with red bruises creating a collar around his throat.are left behind, remnants to be left on his skin from the night-- _ their  _ night. 

Their first time is messy and awkward and to some extent embarrassing. But it still places a smile on Keith’s face, one Lance is happy to reflect back at him. 

They cry out each other’s name when they reach their climaxes. Keith can barely catch his breath, his heartbeat stuttering in place of its usual smooth rhythm. Lance fares no better, his eyes glazed over in ecstasy. 

And in the afterglow, they snuggle close.

“Keith,” Lance mutters, his fingers calmly dancing over Keith’s naked body. Their legs are tangled together, like the sheets that are pooled by their waists.

Lazily, Keith smiles, his head shifting to face Lance. “What?” His voice is lost in a dream. He entwines his fingers with Lance, pale skin mixing with brown. It takes a moment for Keith to see the unusualness and it takes Lance to voice his own thoughts. 

“You look human again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you may be wondering, why did Sandra have condoms? Well as a mother you always got to be prepared because you know your children won’t be (also known as: a plot hole that will never be explained) 
> 
> Sorry for the short chap but as I said before, this one is purely filler. I am so excited for the second part of this story. Spoiler: things are going to get worse before they get better....


	15. Chapter 15

They stay in bed longer than expected, both of them fawning over Keith’s new--original--human appearance. His skin is the same pale hue; his fingernails are blunt and short, and his ears are back to their original size. Lance smiles inwardly as he notices that Keith’s eyes have also reverted to their original, arguably better, color.

Maybe there are more flecks of yellow than normal, but the pretty violets and grays are back. Lance doesn’t understand why this has happened now. He knows his boyfriend is only half Galra. And he also knows that there are shape shifters--the Alteans mainly--, but he didn’t think the Galra were ones too. It probably has something to do with the Druids and their weird magic and work with quintessence. But other than that, Lance has no idea why Keith was able to subconsciously revert back after they had sex for the first time. 

This time, Lance outwardly smiles, remembering the memories of the night that will accompany him always. How wonderful it felt and how he wished they could do it again. But both of them are exhausted and they have to leave soon. There’s just no time. He returns his attention back to Keith, his boyfriend and lover, studying the back of his hand like he’s never seen it before. A puzzled frown graces Lance’s lips.

A thought quickly occurs to him. “Hey.. have you ever seen the classic show Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

“Uh… no. That sounds super cheesy and stupid.”

Lance jerks up; the sheets lying on his chest fall into his lap. His dark blue eyes sharpen into a glare. “Um, excuse me?! Buffy is one of the best shows ever, Mr. I-lived-in-a-shack! Yes it was made at the end of the twentieth century and yes the special effects are horrible compared to now. But the story still stands up to any show on today.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith responds with “I’ll take your word for it. Now why are you bring this up?” His fingers card through Lance’s spiked bedhead, coaxing him back down to lay by his side. 

“Well… now this is a long shot but one of the characters, Angel, turned evil because he experienced a moment of pure happiness with his love when they had se--”

“So you think I’m going to turn evil. Gee  _ thanks _ , Lance.”

“No, no, you idiot. I’m just saying maybe you had a moment of pure happiness and it allowed you to transform back.” Lance places a chaste kiss on Keith’s cheek, drawing back to look his boyfriend in the eye.

Keith hums. “I  _ am  _ pretty happy. Your idea’s still corny though.” 

Lance sticks his tongue out at Keith’s comment. “I’d like to see you come up with something better.”

“Honestly,” Keith says, starting to leave the bed and the warmth of the sheets--Lance grunts in protest--“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me nor do I care if I find out or not.” He pauses, turning to find Lance again, the sheets falling away from his body. Blush colors both of their cheeks. “I think I want to take you up on that shower offer.”

* * *

Sandra has no comments when Keith emerges from their room looking human. It’s something Keith is grateful for; he has no idea how it happened so it’s better not to ask questions that neither of them can answer. He sits on the stool, watching her movements in the kitchen. Mesmerizing everything about her: her brown curls, her dark skin, her vibrant orange eyes. While Lance continues to get dressed, surrogate mother and son are able to have a quiet moment together, either before they all leave together or just Lance and Keith do.

She slides his breakfast to him, and Keith happily digs in, having an appetite for once. “T-thanks for the… uh  _ things  _ last night.” Embarrassment stains his skin. 

“You’re welcome.” And they don’t comment on it any further. 

Keith takes a couple more bites before he builds up the courage to ask what he’s been dying to for a while now. “Are you coming with us?”

“Keith,” Sandra replies quietly; there is a definite sadness in her words. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

He nods; exactly as he thought. “I’ll come visit though, when I can. I’m sure everyone will want to meet you too.”

“And I’d like to meet everyone as well. They’ve taken such good care of you, especially this Shiro fellow.” Sandra ruffles his hair. “Be good to Lance. His heart is just as fragile as yours.”

“I know. And don’t worry, I won’t ever leave Lance.” Utter certainty strengthens his words. He loves Lance, and Keith is quite sure Lance loves him. Nothing will separate them, hopefully. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” she says with a slight frown.   


“Wha--”

“Don’t do something stupid that gets you killed! You have that spirit inside you where you’d sacrifice yourself. But our hearts, we--well me and Lance, we’re not as strong as we’d like you to believe... Don’t die; that’s a mother’s order.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Something, dark and ugly, sinks to the pit of his stomach. That’s a promise both of them know Keith can’t keep. If Lance or anyone on their team is in danger, he will gladly throw himself in front of the bullet. It’s a part of him that can’t be changed with a simple promise. 

Her smile is back in full force. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Lance scrambles out of the bedroom soon after; the same clothes that Lance wore when they were brought to Sandra’s house adorn his body. His short brown hair is still rumpled and wet from their shared shower. “So are we ready to go?” Lance asks enthusiastically, scarfing down  _ Keith’s  _ breakfast.

“If you’re packed,” Sandra responds with a laugh.

They have two backpacks, each filled with food and water and other supplies they might need on their journey home, and their bayards. The lions welcome them back, their yellow eyes gleaming through the thick brush that camouflages them. Lance and Sandra’s goodbye is short, with a whisper spoken between them that Keith will never know about, and Lance soon disappears into the Blue Lion.

Keith lingers a little longer, not knowing exactly what to say.

Sandra initiates the hug and he folds into her. “We’ll meet again, remember that Keith. We’ll see each other again.”

“Not a goodbye then, but a ‘see you later.’”

Keith tries not to cry as they let go; he waves to her when he’s in the mouth of his lion. When the jaws finally close, Sandra disappears from view. Keith doesn’t look back when he is finally seated in the pilot's chair. He concentrates on the sky and the stars of space they will soon see again.

Lance and Keith keep a channel open between them as they break the atmosphere and spring into the endless night of the unforgiving universe. They spends hours talking and flying at full speed in a random direction they picked with a flip of a coin. Lance’s signal hasn’t helped but Keith hopes someone will pick it up soon.

“Why did you do  _ that _ ?!” Keith exclaims, laughter bubbling in his throat.

“Shave off my sister’s eyebrows? Because she was a dick who ate the last gummy bear.”

A smile shines bright on his face. “Remind me to never eat the last gummy bear.”

“Don’t worry, babe, I’d never do that to you. Besides, I was only ten.”

Keith watches the stars for a minute as Lance tells the rest of his tale, how he got grounded for a good six months and couldn’t play with any of his friends after school. Keith wishes he had some family stories to tell Lance, but he mainly falls back on embarrassing stories about Shiro. Like the first time he asked out a girl.

“So, so you’re telling me that Shiro, master of cool, calm, and collected, choked on his words and fell down the stairs?” Lance shakes his head disbelievingly, his eyes full of laughter. 

“Yap. That was a couple years after I moved into their home. Those were the good ol’ days.”

Lance parts his mouth to speak, when a warning blares inside of their lions. Sensors blink to life as multiple red dots move towards them. Extremely fast. They bank left to avoid them but soon that fighters catch up, darting past them while firing. And Keith finds the source they’re coming from. His eyes are blown wide, anxiety creeping up his spine. His fingers tingle and something foreign sparks in his body.

Why, why now? Why did they pick up the signal? Out of all the people in the universe, why?

“Well would you look at that. Just our luck, huh?” Keith grumbles, staring at the armada of Galra ships in their path and at his inoperative weapons’ panel. There’s crackling over the intercom before Lance’s voice rings in and his face pops up on the view screen again.

“What the fucking hell? Are you shitting me? I--” Keith mutes him, watching his mouth move, spewing out unknown curses, probably some in Spanish.   

They can’t fire, so they fall back on ducking and evading. Keith spots a decked out flagship, more gaudy and hideous than he has ever seen before; it’s flashy, the symbol of the empire in a neon pink paint and the whole ship decorated in a deep maroon. It’s not Zarkon’s base of operation but he wouldn’t doubt it if Zarkon or someone of equal importance was on that ship. His vision blurs for a minute, the alarm inside his lion subconsciously muted. Keith shakes the strange sensation off, concentrating on his lion. After a few more minutes of evading, trying to outrun this blockade of sorts, they get caught in a tractor beam. The light of the beam penetrates every inch of his lion.   

It pulls them in, slowly but effectively, and though Keith tries, the engines at full thrust, both of the lions can’t break out of the beam. Sweat rolls down his cheeks, his breathing heavy and labored. By the time Keith’s vision returns to a slightly more normal state and he directs his gaze back to Lance, he realizes the Paladin is screaming his name. He clicks to unmute.

“--eith!”

“What?”

“Y-you’re turning back.”

Immediately, Keith glances down at his hand, lavendar now over taking the peach color. He doesn’t doubt that his Galraness has seized control over his whole body again. His heart beats faster now, a sliver of fear encroaching on his mind. “H-how?”

“Now this one I can’t relate to a tv show.” A worried gaze is sent in Keith’s direction. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” Lance pauses to breathe. “When they pull us inside, let’s get ready to kick some Galran ass.”

“I’m with you all the way.”

His bayard instantly transforms into a familiar sword, the weight perfect in his hand. Lance counts down over the coms: five, four, three, two, one…. They break out of their lions, a war cry on their breaths. They catch some of the Galra sentries by surprise.  Easily and without resistance, Keith slices through metal. Lance effortlessly snipes guards in the distance coming to help in the effort to capture them. 

Keith smirks; that’s his sharpshooter.

But even they knew that this is going to be a hopeless attempt at an escape. An unexpected fist rockets into Keith’s stomach, knocking the air out of his body.  He wheezes, falling to the ground, and a large boot slams into his stomach, cracking a couple of ribs.   

Pain warps his mind.

Lance screams his name before he too is silenced. Keith watches through his shadowed vision as Lance collapses on the ground, a laser wound on his shoulder smoking. The scent of charred flesh permeates the air. Keith begins to crawl, wanting more than anything to be by his side, but the boot is back on his body, ceasing his movements as it presses roughly into his skin.   

“Where are you going, scum?”

Keith attempts to turn but even the simple action exhausts his injured body. Blood pools at the corner of his lips. The Galra above him, with a thick puffy scar running diagonally across his face, glares, his yellow eyes pinched. Short and stubby ears frame his weathered face.

_ I know you’re not my father,  _ is the first thought that slides into Keith’s head; what an odd thing to think of right now.  _ So get the fuck away from me. And don’t you  _ dare  _ harm Lance.   _

“Sir, this one’s Galra.” A guard or a lieutenant or someone of lower status’s words pause the older Galra in mid stomp, boot precariously hovering just above Keith’s face. 

He grunts, unaffected by the obvious information. “So he is. Bring him to Zarkon. He’ll deal with this traitor.”

“Sir, what about the other one. The human?”

“Throw him with the other prisoners.”

Keith’s vision dissolves into black, his hearing gone as he slips into a quick sleep. Only to be revived when he is violently thrown onto the ground. Lifting his head, his eyes, quickly adjusting to the light, travel up the legs of a silver throne and the figure sitting in it. Zarkon narrows his glowing eyes, the bright purple highlighting his sinister smirk. 

Gritting his teeth, Keith begins to stand, fingers clenching into fists. He takes a step forward only to be forcefully shoved to the ground. To kneel in front of the universe’s tyrant.  

The commander’s hand forcefully digs into Keith’s bruised shoulder. “Lord Zarkon, we found this…  _ traitor  _ in possession of one of the lions.”  

A wicked gleam shines in Zarkon’s eyes as he sits forward, as if to inspect him. “It has been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Welcome home, my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last big secret has been revealed! I hope you're not disapointed.
> 
> I absolutely love Buffy, and Lance’s thought is the exact one I had when I decided to have Keith transform back for a short time in my outline. Obviously it’s more complicated than that now, but I thought it would be a cool thing to add in. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mention of rape

_ My son, my son, my son.  _ It echoes over and over and over again in Keith’s ears.  _ He knew, he knew deep down that this man--this  _ beast _ \--was going to be his father.  _ Yet somehow it still shocks Keith to the core, numbing his body and mind in a way he hadn’t thought possible. If fear shows in Keith’s Galra eyes, Zarkon thankfully doesn’t comment. His only reaction is a tiny smirk spreading across his face.

“Yes, you are my son, little one.” 

Keith shakes his head, his legs wobbling as he rises but an unknown Galra pushes him back down with a grip that screams he will be punished if he stands again. Spitting blood instead, Keith glares at his father. “I--I don’t believe you,” but even his own voice betrays his true thoughts.  

“Hmm,” Zarkon mutters; he jerks his head to the side. “Leave us,” he roars, speaking to the guards, who hurry to respect their emperor’s command. Haggar, who had been hiding in the shadows, finally appears in full. Zarkon doesn’t make any moves to command her to leave. 

“I don’t believe you,” Keith says, a little stronger now. He is finally able to rise; the chains around his ankles and wrists clank together. His hair obscures his vision, but he doesn’t bother to blow the misbehaving locks away. “I  _ don’t  _ believe you.”

“You will.” The coldness from Zarkon’s voice wracks Keith’s body in an uncontrollable, violent shiver. “Your mother’s name is Nari; you’re from the planet Tazer, but I sent you to Earth when you were young. I was also the one to pull you crying from your dead mother’s arms... I was hoping she’d have lasted a little longer,” Zarkon supplies as an afterthought. 

A dark scream is lodged inside Keith’s throat. It pushes at him, threatening to escape from its cage. “How  _ dare  _ you speak about her like that! Like.. like a toy that can be thrown away once it’s broken!” His voice, louder than it has ever been before, ricochets off the walls, echoing until the words only ring inside Keith’s mind.

“How dare  _ I _ ? You didn’t even know her, young one. One look at your Galra appearance and she was revolted, ashamed of what had transpired between us.” Zarkon almost laughs. His words drip with poison.

A furious shake of Keith’s head follows Zarkon’s words. “You’re wrong.” His yellow eyes are shadowed, ominous and dangerous.  _ I know the real truth.  _ “You can try all the mind games you want. She loved me, much more than you did--do. My mother wasn’t revolted by me. She was revolted by  _ you _ !”

Keith charges, hoping to at least do  _ something _ , to at least catch Zarkon off guard with one hit. That’s all he wants. But with a wave of her hand, Haggar sends out a bolt of black magic. Keith rockets into the adjacent wall; his back takes the brunt of the impact as he falls in a heap to the floor. A flicker of a memory passes through him, as Haggar’s magic continues to wrap around him.

“A pathetic creature, my lord,” Haggar distantly says. Her voice is muffled by the static buzzing in his ears. “I don’t know why you even bothered.”

“Enough,” Zarkon bellows. The witch’s magic immediately stops. 

Sweet release finds him just in time. The blackness that had started to engulf Keith begins to fade from the corner of his eyes. He tries to stand, but stumbles back into the wall for the much needed support. Keith allows his eyes to close for a second, calming his racing heart and the ringing in his large ears. A bead of sweat, like a tear, rolls down his cheek. His head continuously pounds away, never resting. What he wouldn’t give for a healing pod right now.

“How did you know it was me anyways?” Keith’s voice is on the verge of sleep; he’s exhausted. 

As if Zarkon is painstakingly picking out the correct words to respond with, he doesn’t answer right away. “A little druid magic to link us together and the Galra have a naturally strong connection to their young. It’s how I was able to find you…. and your mother a long time ago. But you still have a lot to learn about Galra culture.”

No strength left to protest or comment, Keith begins to slide to the floor, defeated. 

_ What about Lance? _

The thought slams into his head, and he sucks in a startled breath.  _ What about Lance? What about Lance? What about  _ Lance _?  _ Is his lover even alive; just how fatal was that shot to his shoulder? The chance that it may have hit his heart... Keith prays to whatever being is out there. If one of them has to die by the hands of Zarkon, let it be Keith. Spare Lance, that’s all he asks for and he has never asked for anything before. His starlight yellow eyes pop open, and energy soars through his limbs one last time, enough to accomplish one more task. Enough to walk closer to Zarkon, one question poised on his lips before he collapses. 

“What do you want from me?” Keith growls, a menacing scowl destroying his handsome features. 

“To lead by my side. To help me bring down Voltron.”

* * *

When Keith falls asleep--the cot uncomfortable and the room, too large to be considered a cell but guards are still stationed outside the door, is freezing--he finds lost memories. He watches through a woman’s eyes and when he wakes--later in the day? Night? What time is it anyways?--he will realize that the woman was his mother. 

The woman walks across the station, determination in every step. A bundle of blankets rests against her chest, and every once and awhile she pushes the top of the thin material back, revealing the large, innocent yellow eyes of a Galran child with a shock of black hair. A sweet melody--a familiar lullaby--sings from her silken voice. 

_ I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love _

_ I'd a pluck a red rose blowin' _

But her gaze doesn’t linger long though, and she swings her head back in the direction she is  walking towards. She finally reaches a terminal, heavily out of breath. The alien, with four arms and six eyes, blinks back at her, unamused by her question. “No GAC, no getting off this planet!” they reply.

“What’s GAC?” she asks with a frown.

“ _ Galra. Authorized. Currency. _ ” The alien talks like they would to a child. “I thought everyone knew that?” The alien roughly slides her useless currency back under her hands. 

“I guess not everyone,” the woman mumbles. This part of the memory begins to fade from view as the woman walks away from the terminal. The baby in her arms whines, clawing to touch her face and to play with her hair. But she shushes him; there is an undeniable agony in her eyes as they skirt around the promenade. As if fearing that someone will be right around the corner; a someone that would be the definition of an unwelcomed surprise. 

In the dream or memory or whatever this is, Keith can not tell how much time has passed. Days? Weeks? Months? The mood changes in a flash and he finds himself--as the woman again--running across the station. The baby bounces against her chest, crying unashamedly as he buries his face into her hair. She whispers soothing words into the child’s ears, her fingers gently gliding over his purple skin and dark, unruly hair. 

_ Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove _

_ What your heart's knowin' _

Sirens howl around them, red lights bathe their skin, and the station rocks to an untimely beat. While sprinting the woman stumbles for a moment by the unexpected, jarring movement, but she is soon steady again, now running towards a vacant shuttle.

_ I have to get away, _ the woman--Keith--thinks. But he doesn’t understand why.  

“It’s the Galra!” a random alien screams, running as well, before a kiosk stand falls on top of them from the next blast, eternally trapping them.

Screeching to a stop, the woman growls. The way’s blocked by the debri from the floor above. It is--was--the only exit. Tears stream down her cheeks, the thin rivers pooling into oceans at her feet as fat droplets cascade down from her cheeks. She backs herself into a corner, cradling her baby. 

“They found us, Keun.  _ He  _ found us.” Her breathing shudders before she continues. “I’m sorry; I’m so, so sorry.”

Another blast.

A beam falls from the ceiling, crushing the woman’s back. She hits her head hard on the floor, instantly gone, so quickly that she couldn’t even scream. But the baby’s safe, her body having cushioned him from the impact. As the dust from the collapse clears, Keith (as himself and not as the woman) becomes a ghost, watching from the outside, unable to interact. Many minutes have passed when finally, finally someone approaches this sector.

The Galra’s clawed hands reach into the bundle pulling out the Galra child who desperately wants to go back to his mother. Her warmth having not yet faded. The older Galra’s eyes glow a dark violet as he looks at the child. A grin of accomplishment snakes it’s way onto his face. The baby continues to scream, fighting against his captor. His stubby legs swinging against empty air as the older Galra holds the child out before him.

“I’m so glad to see you safe, little one. I have  _ important  _ plans for you.” Zarkon doesn’t glance back, walking out of the damaged station, not sparing Keith’s dead mother one last glance. 

* * *

“Did you rape her? My mother,” Keith asks the next time he’s brought before Zarkon. After the dream, the memory, had faded into darkness, Keith had woken up in a cold sweat, feeling just as tired as when he was thrown onto the cot.

Zarkon is seated in his throne again. But this time they are truly alone. If only Keith wasn’t shackled to the floor he would end this once and for all, with his bare hands as those are the only weapons Keith has. Zarkon looks at Keith with quiet suspicion. “She didn’t know it was me, if that’s what you’re asking. Druid magic can be very convincing when one wants to look like someone other than themselves. We had a… what do you call it? A one night stand? But of course,” he continues to reply flippantly, “she was always a smart one. I’m sure she figured it out soon enough.”

Keith struggles against his chains, but the side of his body, incredibly bruised and broken, sparks in pain. A shiver of agony races through his body. A coppery taste coats his tongue as his fangs accidently bite the inside of his cheek, an attempt to stop himself from crying out in pain. “ _ Monster!  _ I fucking hate you!”

A deep and dark chuckle permeates the room. “I see you got most of  _ my  _ genes. Fighting to the last breathe, like a true Galra would.”

The metal cuffs slice thin cuts into his skin; a steady stream of blood encircles his wrist. “Fuck you.” Keith continues to pull at his restraints, and with each pull, more pieces of his fragile skin are torn to ribbons. Blood drips to the floor. Four tiny puddles surround him.

“Are you quite finished?” Zarkon asks calmly, a hint of amusement at the edge of his voice. 

“I’ll never be done,” Keith spits, eyes shining in a murderous rage. “And one day I  _ will  _ kill you.”

“Guards,” Zarkon calls out, unconcerned by Keith’s threat. Two Galra open the door immediately, and because of their efficient speed, Keith has to wonder if they were listening in on the conversation this whole time. “Sedate my son and heal him. We’ll resume this talk when he wakes again.”

The guards clamp their hands onto Keith’s shoulders, their claws digging into his skin. Keith struggles, elbowing the guards in the nose and stomach. A satisfied crack of an elbow snapping a nose fills the entire room, but even with that accomplishment, they easily pin Keith to the floor. A needle slides under his skin. 

Keith’s last wayward thought is of Lance, but even that longing quickly disappears from his sluggish mind. The world around him fades away, and Keith is dragged along with it, forever captured in its embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I had to work on/somewhat finish a school project before I could update any of my fics. 
> 
> I also apologize for the lack of Lance; he’ll show up next chapter so don’t worry:)
> 
> Once again the lullaby is from Poldark.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	17. Chapter 17

It’s dark at first and all Lance can comprehend is the intense amount of pain radiating from his shoulder. The ends of his hair resting at the nape of his neck have been singed, as well as a decent patch of skin surrounding the laser wound. Lance wonders what it looks like. But he knows what it feels like: teeth biting into his skin, drawing blood and spreading poison throughout his entire body. 

Unexpectedly, a humanoid hand paws at his back, startling Lance enough to open his eyes and slam his back into the nearest wall as he attempts to scoot away. His shoulder continues to scream in agony as his breathing becomes heavy and labored. 

A little girl, no more than six Earth years at least, blinks her doe eyes at him. With a mess of brown curls and tan skin, she resembles a younger version of Lance’s older sister Elena. Her vibrant purple eyes and dazzling blue freckles ruin the image though. Lance slides further back into the wall as the little alien walks closer, not phased by the frantic look in Lance’s cloudy eyes. 

“S-stop,” Lance stutters, his mouth dry and chalky. It cracks as he tries to speak, so he gives up, and flips his hands up in a surrendering gesture. 

The little alien finally ceases in her movements and kneels down in front of him, her large eyes still trained on his ruined shoulder. “I want to help.” Her voice is soft like a springtime breeze or the first bloom of flowers his mamá used to keep in a window box. 

“H-how can y--” he hacks out a patch of blood before he regains control of his speech. He wipes a dribble of saliva off his chin. “How can you help me?” 

Before the alien responds, Lance has a chance to look around the cell. It’s small and has a faint smell of serious BO or other bodily excrements Lance prefers not to think about. He can still hear the purr of the engine and the almost invisible shudder of the ship gliding through space. There are two beds, one messy and the other in perfect condition.

“Let me show you,” the alien says. She places her small hands on Lance’s shoulder before he can react. 

A smile breaks through his face the second her hands connect with his skin. Unadulterated pleasure, the warmth of pure love and happiness and joviality, soars through Lance’s blood. An impossibly bright blue light drowns the room a moment later. Her purple eyes and freckles glow along with invisible patterns now appearing on top of her tan skin. 

Lance is transported away. In his mind's eye, he stands by the sea, tiny waves lapping at his bare feet and the wet sand coating his skin as he digs his feet further down into the soft ground. Someone walks up behind him. It’s a familiar and welcomed presence. As Keith places his warm hand on the small of Lance’s back, sparks trickle up his spine. When he turns, Lance finds Keith in his human form, and every ounce of worry has disappeared from his features. He smiles at his lover, allowing his hand to fall into Keith’s as they stare at the sea together, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon.

Once Lance snaps out of the impromptu vision, the alien collapses next to him, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead as she pants. The pain from his shoulder has vanished, and any overall fatigue from fighting the Galra is gone. He feels whole and brand new. A better feeling than what the Altean healing pods have ever given him. 

“That was beautiful,” she whispers, voice catching on the last syllable.

“Wha--who are you?”

Her curls bounce as she tilts her head up to look at him. “I’m Talia,” she giggles, leaning back on the heels of her feet. She’s a child but there are dark bags under her eyes where there shouldn’t be.

“Oh, well uh, hi, I’m Lance.” Giving a little wave, Lance scoots closer to his roommate. “But I meant like how did you do that? You have healing powers!” 

Talia shrugs, her eyes scanning his figure as if looking for anymore injuries that she hasn’t healed already. “It’s not that special. Most of my people could do it.”

“It’s special to me. I mean, I’ve never encountered anyone who could do that.” What other powers does this child have?

“You wouldn’t. They’re probably all dead.” Shock blazes across Lance’s features, completely startled by how blatantly she can say that.  _ All dead.  _ But Lance can see painful emotions fizzling behind her lavender eyes.

“W-why are you here?” Lance asks hesitantly

“The Galra. They destroyed most of my planet before they figured out what we could do. And when they did…. I guess healers are a high commodity,” she states quietly. “They captured some of us but most of the adults died of diseases on the way here. T-they were too weak to heal themselves; I tried but I… I..” Talia trails off in mid thought, her lips parted and eyes vacant. “I was the strongest after… that and was sent to Zarkon.” A shiver races through Talia’s body and Lance pulls the child closer to him. “They work me like a slave--I  _ am  _ a slave--but right now it’s better than being killed like my family and most of my people.” 

These are words a child should not have to utter, Lance mentally seethes.

“Who’s the man in your vision?” Talia changes the subject. Lance does not miss her flicking a tear away from the corner of her eyes.

“Y-you saw that?”

Talia nods, and her head falls onto his shoulder as her fists ball into the ruined material of his shirt. “It’s part of our… my ability. So who is he?”

“His name is Keith.”

“You love him, don’t you? Your emotions, they were so powerful.”

Lance closes his eyes, trying to recall the feeling the vision had bestowed upon him for a short time. But any hint of the vision has practically disappeared from his mind. He can barely remember what Keith looked like in the fading sun surrounded by a million rays. “I do; I love him.”

Talia sighs. “Where is he?”

“He’s… he’s on this ship. I think; I hope. I don’t know what happened after I was shot.” A sob interrupts any other thoughts he has, and a stream of tears slide down his face.

“Keep that hope alive. I’ll try to find him, when I’m needed next. I believe that he’s still on this ship; we haven’t made any stops since you came.” 

There is still the airlock, Lance can’t stop himself from thinking. The strength of Talia’s voice quells the rest of Lance’s tears. He smoothes down her tangled hair. “Thank--”

A guard harshly opens the door, his sight not set on Lance but on Talia. He tries to stand in front of his new friend; the Galra easily pushes him aside. “You’re needed now,” the guard gruffs, roughly gripping Talia’s wrists and dragging her from their cell. She reluctantly leaves with him, sparing Lance one last glance. She sends him a quick nod, reassuring him of her promise.

Even if Lance has only met Talia for an hour or less, he promises that when he and Keith escape they are taking Talia with them. 

* * *

Keith has a dream that’s wrapped in blue light. That’s it. All he can recall is the warm sapphire that saturates the plain landscape around him. The color causes him to think of Lance and his limp body on the floor and the Blue Lion surrounded in its magnificent sheild as a backdrop to their misfortunes. When Keith wakes up, a single tear rolls down his cheek. 

No one is in his room when he finally opens his eyes. But the searing pain from his broken rib isn’t noticeable and his torn wrists are healed; not even a scar is left behind to show his struggle. His fingers rub the smooth, lavender skin in awe. He never realized the Galra had this type of technology, and he always figured that the Druids were more about destroying than healing. 

Keith doubts this is Haggar’s magic, then whose is it?

Ripping a thin strip of material from his shirt, he loosely ties back his hair, a few shorter strands fall back in front of his face. The door to his room-like-cell slides open. Obstructing the artificial light streaming in from the hallway stands a beefy guard. Keith vaguely remembers breaking this one’s nose, which looks completely healed as well. 

“Come with us, Princeling.”

“Where are you taking me?” Keith fires back, fangs bared in a threatening growl. He makes no move to stand.

“Sire,” the guard responds with forced patience, “come with us  _ now _ .” His hand slides to the top of his weapon, body locking into a threatening stance. 

Thick tension sparks between them as Keith narrows his yellow eyes. Anger coils deep inside of him as anticipation for a fight builds up, fueling his temptation to strike. The Galra, half a foot taller than Keith at least, steps an inch forward. Nothing holds back the guard from striking Keith, but finally something inside Keith tells him this isn’t the fight he wants to pick. Not when there are probably five other guards in the hallway and he is weaponless. Besides, Keith still has to find where they put Lance. 

If he’s alive.

He has to be alive.

Before the Galra can take another step forward, Keith moves from his stationary position on the bed.  

“Hmm,” the guard offhandedly begins, turning away from Keith and walking towards the door, “so you’re not that stupid after all.”

Keith’s ears flick back in irritation. A low, menacing growl rumbles deep within his vocal cords, but he doesn’t comment and the guard only chuckles. Keith hates him even more for it. 

While they walk--another guard has flanked Keith’s backside; he feels caged, even more now--Keith memorizes the route they travel, and maybe soon he will be able to conjure up a full, or almost complete, layout of Zarkon’s flagship. It will come in handy if-- _ when _ \--he and Lance escape. 

The perfect lights of the hallway shine a spotlight into his soul. The rhythm of the boots marching across the floor keep time with Keith’s racing heart. He has no idea what to expect when they reach whatever is at the end of this hallway. He dares to hope that he is being brought to Lance, but he knows that that is a fruitless dream. Why would Zarkon allow him to be with the one person he needs to escape with? No one on this ship is  _ that  _ dumb. As his thoughts turn to Lance, Keith accidentally reminds himself of the blue light that filled his dreams that morning; he rubs his healed wrists subconsciously. His dream, though blank and weighted down with grief, had a few calming elements, enough to relieve an ounce of tension from his body. The blue light was a drug whose effects only lasted so long. 

The guards stop at large, double doors, and when they open, Keith finds himself back where it all began. 

Zarkon stands in front of the two lions, his gaze directed on Red more than Blue. But the tyrant is equally captivated by both of them. Keith stares longingly at the Blue Lion though; the particle barrier has been activated and those yellow eyes are lifeless. His eyes widen, pleading with Blue to give him a hint about Lance, if the lion knows anything about her paladin. But both lions are silent and a foul remembrance of the time spent on Tazer when the lions were unresponsive springs up inside Keith’s gut. 

Surprisingly, the guards don’t shackle Keith this time. But they stand a few meters away, prepared to intervene when necessary. Keith spies Haggar sulking in the shadows again, but he allows his eyes to fall on Zarkon; it startles him to realize that the Galra emperor is not clothed in his usual armor, but what must be a general everyday outfit for Galra royalty. A deep purple cloak hangs from his shoulder and the rest of his clothes are black.

“I should have known you were the Red Paladin when we fought each other many moons ago.” Zarkon doesn’t turn to face Keith when he addresses him. “I had a feeling, but I couldn’t be completely sure.”

“So you still tried to kill me.” Keith has to admit that rushing after Zarkon alone was not a shining achievement, but for that one moment, it had felt empowering and tangible. Until he got his ass handed to him. But it won’t end like that this time around; when Keith faces Zarkon with a weapon in hand, he will finish what he started. 

“Every family has their fights.”

_ I wouldn’t call us a family,  _ Keith wants to say outloud as fire burns bright inside him,  _ I will never call you father.  _ Even just thinking the word is poison.  __

The emperor tilts his head, cautiously studying Keith like a lab rat. “I was a Paladin, once. To the Black Lion in fact,” Zarkon remarks, his voice caught in the past.

His long bangs whip into his face as he furiously shakes his head. “ _ Liar _ ,” Keith spits, fangs fully exposed. 

“I’m speaking truthfully. Ask that Altean princess if you ever see her again; she’ll tell you the whole story.”

The chances of finding the Castle--in tack and with all their friends alive--becomes slim with every passing moment that Keith and Lance are stranded in space and captured. Zarkon walks closer to him, only a few feet away now, as Keith stares stubbornly at the lions, waiting for a signal. 

Silence.

“It’s also why you have such a strong--”

“Sire,” Haggar interrupts, shooting her master a direct look, “It’s almost time.”

Though Zarkon appears slightly perturbed by her interruption, he nods in her direction. Even a tyrant can’t control time; he too has to bow to its power. His eyes find Keith again, an unfriendly smile on his face. “We will be properly introducing you to my high command today. A coronation of sorts,” Zarkon states, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your uniform has already been delivered to your room,” he continues before he pauses once more. “We’ll finish our conversation one day, young one.” He ends in a chuckle, his gaze peeling away from Keith and back to the lions with a sad glimmer in his eyes. 

It takes a minute for the emperor's words to sink in, still overwhelmed by his thoughts of the lions and Zarkon in general.  _ Coronation….  _ to be the prince of the Galra Empire. Keith’s fingers curl into fists, his eyes once again narrowing in anger. He doesn’t want to be a  _ prince _ . He doesn’t want to be associated with the Empire. He doesn’t want to be Galra or Zarkon’s son. He wants to be free. He wants to be with Lance.  __

“I won’t be your puppet!” Keith charges, arm arched back and fingers closed into a fist ready to connect with Zarkon’s face.

Before contact can be made, his back painfully arches backwards and his body floats off the floor.  

Haggar suspends his body in a bubble of dark light; it’s deceptively pretty. Fingers wrap around his throat, and a tight, form fitting collar clamps around his neck. A jolt of electricity rips through his body as Keith releases an agonizing scream. His body drops to the floor, Haggar’s magic dissipating, and he stares at Zarkon with disgust.

“You do as I say, son, or things will become more painful from now on.”

Another burst of electricity, much stronger than before, wracks through his body. Keith barely has the ability to speak anymore, his nerves fried.

“Now,” Zarkon continues, “It’s time for you to get ready.”

* * *

Talia still hasn’t returned by the time Lance is dragged from the cell. He marches along a long hallway, flanked by two or three guards. His hands are chained together, and his ankles are similarly bound. He hobbles awkwardly to keep pace with the guards. They prod him sharply in the back with the barrel of their gun when he begins to fall behind.

The guards lead him to a large, open room. A ballroom or banquet hall if this ship was a castle. But Lance realizes a little too late that this room is not designed for dancing or eating; it’s a throne room. Many, many Galra make up the audience in front of the throne Zarkon sits on. Small talk whispers by Lance’s ears as the guards drag him further to the front. 

Is this his execution, Lance thinks cautiously while his head swings from side to side trying to find that certain someone.  _ Where is Keith? _ Once they make it through the thick sea of generals and commanders--Lance notices an odd stare from one of the Galra, the only one to have noticed his presence, but he promptly ignores it--one of the guards clamps both hands onto his shoulders, shoving him into a kneeling position. They attach his shackles to the floor.  

The murmurs from the crowd are louder now, as the attendees gather in front of their lord. Lance spots Talia somewhere to the left, chained at the wrists but nowhere else. She stands next to Haggar, but when she spots him, her lips mouth silent words Lance can not initially understand. 

_ I found him _

Talia keeps repeating it but Lance has already turned away. Where is he then, because Keith is definitely not one of the Galra in this room. He tries to find Talia again, to silently ask for more information, but Zarkon stands and a hush falls over the crowd.

“I present to you,” Zarkon’s voice bellows, “Prince Akira of the Galra Empire!”

As a Galra walks out from the shadows, Lance rocks back on his heels in shock at the sight before him, the chains around his wrists and ankles clinking together.

**_Keith_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creating Talia was not expected and now I adore her, so she’ll be sticking around. I have a plan for her that I think you’ll all be happy about:) 
> 
> You also may be wondering about Keith’s new name Akira. Well Keith isn’t a very Galra name and I figured Zarkon would want to change that, so I used Keith’s original name in GoLion.
> 
> I also drew Sandra, Nari, and Talia if you want to check it out:  
> http://shatterinseconds.tumblr.com/post/158524456070/my-ocs-for-my-voltron-fic-going-home


	18. Chapter 18

Keith--Akira?--stands before the crowd in full armor. It’s less gaudy than Zarkon’s but it matches nonetheless. Easily sending out the message of loyalty. His usual unruly hair is slicked back and tied in a small knot at the base of his neck. The style is tame and elegant and not Keith at all. No, Lance has to think, this isn’t Keith. This is some imposter named Akira.

A silver crown of sorts resides in his inky hair; a violet jewel sits in the center where the two slim bands meet on his forehead. It gleams against the stars that blaze behind him that are visible through the large, crystal panes of the windows. A frown stains his handsome face, and his eyes are a dark, foreboding gold. Keith, all dressed up, plays the part he must have been born to play, but Lance doesn’t believe it. This is an act, a trick. His Keith wouldn’t succumb to the Galra like that. There must be another angle to this. Is it part of his plan to escape or does Zarkon have some hidden leverage on Keith?

Lance’s brain is slow to catch up with the events as he stares at Keith with unbridled shock. Keith is a prince; Zarkon’s the emperor…. Zarkon is Keith’s father. His mind doesn’t phrase the realization as a question. It’s true, and every crappy thing that has happened to both of them on this impromptu vacation from the Castle has been topped by this. Lance has to smile though, unable to get away from the old movie reference that springs up in his mind. He wonders if Zarkon and Keith had an ‘I am your father’ moment. 

With a quick shake of his head, Lance dispels the ridiculous thought. A murderer is Keith’s father; the person who is bent on killing everybody Lance cares about is Keith’s father. He grits his teeth, attempting to quell the nasty words that prick his tongue. He is livid at Zarkon. There has been enough shit in Keith’s life; his boyfriend does not deserve this fate.

Surprisingly, the Galra roar in rosing cheers; some stomp the ground in approval. Lance’s body vibrates along with them. As the cheers begin to float to the ceiling of the large room, Keith seems to shrink back into himself as Lance cautiously watches him with unchecked curiosity. It’s as if his spirit--his soul--has drifted away from his body, no longer chained; only a husk clothed in Galran armor is left behind.  

Their wonder filled cries fade into the air, and as if coerced by an invisible force, each Galra in the room, including Talia and Haggar, kneels, head dipped low as a sign of respect for their new Prince. One harmonious voice rises with the words “Vrepit Sa!” 

A buzz of inquiries follow soon after as individual Galra step up before the platform to pay their personal respects and to show their undying support and loyalty to the crown. Many congratulate Zarkon on a fine heir, and Lance has to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

They look at Keith like an instrument for victory. They see him as a symbol to murder other cultures, and Lance has to wonder if they really know who their “prince” is. That Keith is a Paladin of Voltron and would like nothing better than to punch all of them in the face. At least to Lance that is the one, steady vibe rolling off of Keith in tremendous waves, even if his Galra eyes are blank. 

The crowd of commanders and generals soon clears, leaving the prisoner, the prince, and the emperor alone. Finally able to untangle some sporadic thoughts, Lance swings his gaze between alleged father and son.  _ What the fuck is going on?  _ Lance is gone from Keith’s side for a day or two at most, and yet he has apparently found his father, been crowned Prince of the Galra Empire, and got a wardrobe upgrade.

Lance’s mind drowns in shock; he can barely appreciate how  _ hot  _ his boyfriend looks in that badass uniform. Purple is Keith’s color even if he is the Red Paladin. Still unable to form coherent words, his tongue flicks against the back of his teeth.  _ What should he say? What should he say? _

“So what you’re saying,” Lance begins slowly, “is that my boyfriend’s a prince and that all my  _ Disney  _ dreams have just come true?” Lance jokes, winking in Keith’s direction. It relieves some of the tension coiled tightly around Keith’s posture. 

There is a hint of hesitance in Keith’s step, his yellow eyes flicking back to Zarkon as if asking for permission; his fingers hover over a dark choker around his throat. Lance’s eyes narrow in suspicion; his lover is not the type to ask for permission, even with just a glance and especially not with the enemy.  _ What happened to him?  _ Keith subtlely stares at his father one more time, but Zarkon doesn’t spare a glance at his son, eyes tracking Lance’s every movement, a grim expression on his face. Keith waits no longer, purposely walking off the slightly raised platform to Lance’s side. 

“I thought you were dead,” Keith whispers, choking slightly on his words, “I didn’t know what happened--I didn’t--”

“Shh, it’s alright; we’re alright.” Hugging Keith in that armor is uncomfortable, the hard edges digging into Lance’s soft skin, but it’s better than nothing. Lance buries his nose into the side of Keith’s neck and his hair. Keith’s scent is… different. Less prominent; Lance can barely detect the familiar elements that have accompanied Keith for as long as Lance has known him.  

A small punch on his shoulder has Lance lifting his head and staring into Keith’s eyes. “I can’t--I can’t believe that we don’t see each other for a day and the first thing you do is make a  _ joke _ .” There is nothing angry about his tone nor the expression in his eyes. In fact, the Galra prince is smiling, the tips of his fangs showing through his wide grin. 

“It wasn’t really a joke. I mean, everything I said was true. You’re a prince and my dream when I was younger was to marry into royalty.”

Keith gently rests his forehead against Lance, his hair falling away from its perfect style and it brushes the tops of Lance’s cheeks. “How are you still not freaking out about this?”

“That your father’s a tyrant and you’re the prince of an empire that’s taken over the universe? Oh I’m freaking out,” Lance truthfully answers, eyes blown wide. “I just have a good poker face.” He ends on a smile though, finishing with “but who cares; you’re still Keith.”

Keith has already moved away from his question though, but he seems overly satisfied with Lance’s answer, his eyes brightening slightly. He rakes his gaze over Lance’s figure, soaking in every ounce of him. “I just realized how long your hair is.” Keith swipes a gloved hand through Lance’s bangs that hang in front of his eyes. “You almost have a--”

“Don’t say it.”

“A  _ mullet _ ,” Keith continues, unfazed by Lance’s warning. He twirls his fingers into the longer locks of Lance’s hair. 

“That’s it. I’m cutting my hair the minute we get back!”

They don’t say ‘if they get back;’ they will never say  _ ‘if _ .’

“You still look handsome.” He places a chaset kiss on Lance’s cheek, a faint navy blush bursting through his skin.

For a brief minute, Lance swears he watches the lavender color fade from Keith’s skin, enough to bring forth his usual pale peach color. He swears he begins to see dark pupils and colored irises of human eyes buried behind the yellow. That is until Zarkon speaks and Keith’s body turns to stone, rigid and solid. All hints of humanness vanish within a second.

Lance must have imagined it. 

“You’ve already mated.” Zarkon phrases his words not as a question but as a direct statement.

A breath of silence calms the air around them as Keith closes his eyes, pinching them shut. His mouth curls into an angry snarl as his forehead continues to firmly press against Lance. Lance reaches up to smooth away the wrinkles in Keith’s creased forehead and from the spot between his eyebrows, but Keith whips away from him. 

“What’s it to you?” Keith snarls. Lance grips onto his lover’s hand, trying to tug him back from a fight Lance knows will come. It’s not the time or the place.

Zarkon pauses in his response, and he jerks his head toward a random guard. The Galra opens the wide doors and in marches Haggar, Talia trailing closely by her side, a miserable expression glued on her face. 

Turning his head back toward his son, Zarkon continues as if there were no interruptions. “It’s just, Galra mate for life. And that’s…. an interesting and quite  _ unfortunate  _ choice you made there, son. Humans are such weak creatures.”

Gut wrenching in anticipation for something… awful, inhumane, monstrous, Lance begins to tug at his bindings; the metal chains slamming together in one ominous symphony that entertains the occupants in the spacious room.  

“Shoot the prisoner, Witch.”

“Of course, sire.” Haggar’s large hood shadows the expression on her face as she thrusts out one hand; black and purple sparks create a ring around her fingers. 

“No!” Keith’s cries echo throughout the throne room as he races to either place himself in between the magic or to fight Haggar. Out of nowhere, Keith spasms, his body jerking wildly until he falls to the ground, sparks flickering along his skin. He is a heap on the floor, unmoving. His eyes find Lance though, and his hand twitches as if stretching out to reach him.

But it’s too late anyways.

Haggar’s black bolt of lightning pierces Lance’s skin, searing his insides as his mind fades to an incinerating white. Barely conscious, Lance registers a stream of tears racing down Keith’s face as his boyfriend is finally able to stand, his whole body visibly shaking. He walks towards Lance, slowly but purposefully; every step is accompanied by a wince.  

“You,” Zarkon bellows, a finger point at Talia’s bowed form. “Heal him now!”

Through a shadowed vision where black spots lazily dance in front of Lance’s eyes, he watches her shuffle over, a slight limp in her step. Even though the pain is immense, almost enough for him to scream out again instead of weeping as his legs spasm without reason, he has to wonder how drained Talia is. Her gift of healing, and the energy that gifts her those powers, is not limitless. Nothing in this universe is limitless. Except for one thing.

_ Love _

Talia’s blue light encompasses him once again. This time he is not transported to the beach he longingly recalls from his childhood but he finds himself in the Castle. Keith is curled beside him, silently sleeping. With his eyes closed, all worry and elements of stress have washed away, leaving behind a perfect, serene face. Lance brushes a lock of hair off his lover’s face. There is a tint of blue clawing at the corners of his eyes as he turns his head to gaze at the stars. For once Earth is right in front of him. 

A gasp fills the silent room as Talia rips her hands off of him, collapsing at his side. Her arms tremble; her eyes are glassy. A bloody tear rolls down her cheek. Lance’s hand reaches for her, to soothe the pain he had caused her because of his uselessness. But someone else demands his attention as strong arms wrap around him and a quiet sob finds its way into Lance’s ear. Keith’s body shakes as he wraps Lance tighter in his embrace.

“I thought I lost you; I thought I lost you again,” Keith mumbles over and over again, hitching in places where he can’t control his emotions. Lance feels multiple hot tears fall onto his shoulder, staining his skin.

Picking his head up and glancing at Lance’s savior, Keith whispers to Talia a quick but meaningful “Thank you.” 

Keith gently brushes a hand through Lance’s messy hair, and with one last gaze into Keith’s honey-golden eyes, his boyfriend turns away from him, his rage directed immediately at Zarkon and Haggar.

“Why!?” he screams, his voice already hoarse. “Why would you do that?”

Zarkon’s expression hinges on exasperation, a dark message buried deep within his eyes. “If you don’t care about your own life; maybe you’ll care about your mate’s.” Zarkon doesn’t leave any openings for Keith to interrupt. “We can administer as much pain as we like. Over and over again. We’ll just bring him back to endure more. That endless suffering will be made possible because of  _ you _ . Every time you defy me, any look in your eyes of deception, your mate will feel my rath.” 

Haggar raises another hand before her master even commands her to do so, black electricity flickers through her palm. Keith is standing, arms spread wide to block Lance from the attack. Lance mentally screams at his legs to move, to push Keith out of the way and take the full force of the next attack. Whatever energy that had been building up inside of him slows to a halt when he hears Keith speak again.

“I’ll do whatever you want; promise me you won’t hurt him.” Utter defeat. Body curled inwards and eyes downcast. Lance watches something he never thought he would ever witness…. Keith’s submission. 

“I won’t,” Zarkon promises with a nod of his head. 

When Lance remembers this moment many years in the future, he always wonders if Zarkon had his fingers crossed behind his back when making that promise. But back then that was a pointless Earth habit, and the thought had not crossed either of their minds in the heat of the moment.

Mentally and physically exhausted, Keith slumps down into a kneeling position, head lowered and his long bangs create dark shadows on his face. “Thank you…  _ father _ .”

* * *

The guard who had his nose broken marches silently beside Keith, jaw ticked and posture tense. They don’t speak to each other, not that they’ve ever held a conversation before besides ‘Zarkon summoned you’ and ‘No, I won’t go.’ But now Keith realizes, as the events from the minutes before sink deep within his mind, he will have to answer Zarkon’s call every time. He’ll have to comply with everything Zarkon says. 

It’s a price worth paying. Lance’s life for complete obedience. Zarkon had been right, Keith does not care about his own life; even though the electrical shocks that crackle through his body every time he defies Zarkon submerge him in an indescribable anguish, Lance will always be more important. There was the way Lance had looked at him when Keith was pushed out of the throne room that will forever remind Keith of what he has caused. The worry, masking any Lance-ness that he has come to love, could have been cut with a knife.

A sigh escapes from Keith’s lips, his hands balling into fists as thoughts of Zarkon begin to invade his mind. 

“What’s your name?” Keith asks as he quietly walks along the path back to his room. Why did he ask? He doesn’t really care.

“The name’s Ulaz.”

Surprised that the guard answered him, Keith casts a sideways glance at his companion. “Oh, I’m Keith.”

“I know.”

Keith refrains from slapping himself; of course the guard already knows his name. Stupid. “Right.” The conversation falls flat soon after, the two walking in comfortable silence once again. His thoughts drift back to Lance. Keith holds onto the memory of Lance’s smile that he prays he will be able to see after this is all over. 

When they escape.

But will Keith be able to smile afterwards? 

He’s not sure. 

“We’re here,” Ulaz interrupts his thoughts, pressing a palm against a flat panel on the wall. It dings and the door slides open with a whoosh. Keith is met with the now familiar sight of his room--his prison cell. 

“Not all of us are as bad as you are lead to believe. Don’t think Zarkon represents every Galra in this galaxy.”

With those words, Ulaz softly closes the door, leaving Keith to stare at the wall, dumbfounded and utterly confused. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why but I'm having a lot of fun writing Zarkon lol. More angst coming soon...
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:D


	19. Chapter 19

That one Galra that had stared at Lance during Keith’s coronation walks beside him now. Lance can’t tell if he’s going to be a new guard, but the Galra holds a tablet, his nails clacking against the clear screen. He’s the only living soul around as Lance’s other companions consist of two sentries with their gravely computer voice telling him to keep moving. The Galra barely sends a glance towards Lance, though he walks along with him. The shackles around Lance’s wrists bite into his skin; criss crossing red marks mar his wrists. At least his feet aren’t shackled this time; it’s easier to walk the long distance back to his cell.

“So random Galra dude,” he addresses the purple alien beside him, “What are you doing here?”

“The name’s Thace,” the Galra responds, shutting off his tablet. “I’m escorting you back, I guess.”

Thace is so far the most responsive guard--though by his uniform, Lance bets that he’s a commander or another rank that’s high up there--he’s had, including the sentries. Lance wants to test the waters, to gauge how far this relatively talkative Galra can be pushed into answering questions. “Would you be able to tell a lowly prisoner what day it is?”

Not batting an eye, Thace responds with “The fifth quintant of the seventh lunar cycle.”

“Okay, that in no way helps me out, but thanks for trying.”

“Right, you Earthlings have odd lingo. For you, it’s the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month of your calendar.”

The twenty-eighth day… seventh month. July. The beach. His family and friends. The water lapping at his feet. A stomach full of cake and soda. The sun, too bright during the day, dipping down into a comforting sunset. The different hues painting Lance’s features. “Oh, thanks.”

“Something wrong, Paladin?” Lance is shocked to find the worry in Thace’s eyes to be legitimate.

“No, no.” Part of him wonders if it’s okay to vent to the enemy, but this Galra seems to be the first person he’s come across that will actually listen to him, instead of telling him to ‘shut up and keep marching.’ “I’m just worried about Keith. He’s been through so much and now he has to worry about protecting me. I’m a burden, fucking useless.” He shakes his chains angrily, his teeth drawing blood as he harshly bites down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming in outrage. “I don’t know what he sees in me. I’m a fucking disaster.”

“This Keith… do you mean Prince Akira?”

Lance’s gaze snaps to the side. “His name is _Keith_.”

“Okay, Prince Keith, and--”

“No,” Lance frantically interrupts, his head shaking wildly. “No Prince. It’s just Keith; it’s always been just Keith.” The stress from the days of being captured have started to settle on Lance’s shoulders, dragging him down into the dark parts of his soul. He longs for the days of ‘just Keith’ where they were happy and didn’t know about the future.

There’s no way to escape this one.

Game over.

But only Lance is the loser in this situation. Keith is safe; Zarkon would never kill his own son, especially since he’s already presented him to the fleet. Yet Lance is a loose end with no purpose. He’s a burden even to his own captives. The impending doom of death has shadowed him the moment they were pulled onto Zarkon’s flagship.

“Keith is your mate, yes?” Thace continues to talk, undeterred by the prior interruption.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t think he could have chosen a better partner. Galra are very selective, only being able to mate once in a lifetime. He wouldn’t have chosen you if you were weak, mentally or physically. Pr--Keith sees something in you, Paladin, something apparently you can’t even see.”

Lance sighs; this direction to his cell is taking forever. “You seem like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am,” Thace confirms.

“Is your mate on this ship?”

“He is.”

Lance nods, wondering if Thace’s mate is just as kind as he is, but he doesn’t ask. “My name’s Lance, by the way.”

“Lance,” he says at first, as if speaking to simply test his name, but then he continues on. “Your mate is very lucky to have found you.”

“I’m very lucky that he found him.” The minute Lance finishes his sentence, they arrive at his cell. A shiver races through his body as he watches the sentry place a hand on the control panel. His cell door swings open with a deafening creak. He doesn’t want to go in, but he must. “Guess this is goodbye. For now at least.”

Thace sends a sideways glance towards the sentries, who are looking straight at the wall and not at them, and quietly types out something on his tablet.  He gently tips the dim screen upwards, the words only visible to Lance.

**‘You’ll both make it out of here.’**

A confused and questioning expression warps Lance’s features as he is freed of his restraints and as the cell door closes on Thace’s message. He’s bathed in darkness at first until a tiny bulb in his cell automatically blinks to life. The dull glow does its best to illuminate his surroundings. Lance is quick to realize that he’s alone and that Talia is nowhere to be found.

So he slumps against the wall, sliding down until his bottom hits the dusty floor. As a shuddering breath wrecks his body, his head drops to his knees and his mind effortlessly travels back to the date Thace gave him.

July 28th

“Happy birthday to me,” Lance sings quietly.

He allows his mind to wander away from this situation as he pictures himself on a beach, Keith with his arm wrapped around Lance’s waist and the rest of his family not far behind them. He imagines Keith’s voice, breathy and shy, as he whispers a quiet “Happy birthday, Lance,” placing a chaste kiss on his cheek even though Lance’s family is watching.

That is where he should be. Where they both should be.

When he opens his eyes, Lance is confronted with the tiny cell, housing two beds but currently only one occupant. He frantically wipes away tears starting to fall. They’re hot and salty as they drop onto Lance’s chapped lips. He feels stupid for crying over a forgotten birthday. He feels guilty for feeling stupid.

Lance is better than this.

His self deprecating thoughts conclude with his cell door creaking open and Talia shoved inside. She scrambles straight for him. A bruise or two is already blossoming on her jaw line, and as Lance wipes away his remaining tears so she won’t see then, he spots a few dried tear tracks tinted red on her cheeks. He tightly wraps an arm around her thin frame.

He doesn’t tell her it will be okay, but he hopes she still understands that.

“Please tell me some Earth legends, Lance,” Talia asks softly, the silence too intense after a few minutes; her purple eyes are flashlights in the darkness.

“I think I have the perfect one,” Lance says without missing a beat.

There’s a moment of silence as Talia leans further into him to hear the story, anticipation buzzing along her skin.

Clearing his throat, Lance begins to speak. “Do you know of the last Jedi Luke Skywalker?”

 

By the time he finishes the tale, recounting all three original movies to the best of his abilities, Talia yawns, her mouth arching open. He spots a few missing teeth, and silently prays they fell out like a normal child’s and weren’t missing because of unpleasant encounters. He carries her to her cot, tucking her in, the tattered sheets covering her as she curls onto her side. For a brief moment, Lance is bombarded with memories of tucking in his younger brother. They both have the same serene look as their minds drift off to dream. His heart is punctured once more, the thought of family too much.

He frowns and turns around just in time to witness his cell door opening again.

“It’s time to come with us, Paladin,” a new Galra guard commands, his face impassive and his posture at ease.

“Where are you taking me?” Lance questions, already complying with the guard’s orders, glancing one last time at Talia’s sleeping form.

“Nowhere pleasant,” and Lance is dragged out into the white lights of the hall.

* * *

It has to be a new day by now, though there’s no way to tell without some sort of watch or a sun. They’re in space, surrounded by millions and millions of star, but Keith can’t even be sure of that fact as his room is void of a window. He is conscious to the hum of the engine, as it glides up through the floorboards and into his body, vibrating against his large ears. They’re still moving at least, which means they haven’t reached their destination. Wherever that is.

There are 236 bolts holding his room together; the lights submerged into the walls flicker every five hours or so, and he knows there’s a slight whine before his cell door opens, warning him what’s to come. The collar around his neck itches, and it’s tight enough that he can’t even slide a finger through.

For what must be the twenty-fifth time in the last few hours, Keith wishes Pidge was here to deactivate it. The thought alone of being electrocuted leaves him on edge; the silent fear travels into his dreams, plaguing his mind until he wakes in a cold sweat and his eyes frantically dart around the room until he remembers he’s a prisoner and not back in his shack or the Castle.

Keith can’t seem to do anything else but live the nightmare. Sleep, dream, have a one sided conversation that usually ends with the words ‘yes, father’ or nothing at all. His eyes seem to fall flat these days, no longer able to hold a formidable glare. Keith has to wonder when the Galra broke him. It hadn’t been gradual, though; one moment he was snarling ready to fight and the next, he’s obedient. The perfect prince.

As he sits up, a hand running through his mass of tangled hair, he realizes they broke him by using Lance. The pure terror that had coursed through his veins the minute Lance cried out, Haggar’s magic shredding his skin as it punched through him, destroyed Keith.

It was then, Keith recalls, that he knew he would give up everything to keep Lance safe. It doesn’t matter if Keith comes out of this scarred and broken and unrepairable, or dead. As long as Lance is safe, he doesn’t care anymore.

A silent tear treks down his cheek, sliding across his purple skin until it lands in the palm of his hand, its trip complete. His fingers curl in, trapping the tear in his fist as his body shakes with anger. At himself, at Zarkon, at this whole goddamn situation. His head snaps up, his eyes focused on his cell door.

Keith’s fist bangs on the metal; the ringing ricochets throughout his small room. “I want to walk around the ship. Let me out!”

His fist punches air as the door unexpectedly slides open, Keith having missed its indicating sound. The Galra in front of him is not Ulaz and Keith finds himself to be disappointed in that fact, his mind still reeling from the Galra’s cryptic words. Two darker strips of purple fur run down his face, resembling scars. His thick, furry brow narrows as his yellow eyes stare directly at Keith.

“Pipe down, your highness; you’re not going anywhere unless Zarkon says otherwise.”

 _Time to play the royalty card,_ Keith seethes inside his head. “I’m your prince and I have a right! You do as I say.”

“Listen here, _sire,_ ” the guard practically spits, his lips curling menacingly. “I don’t give a quiznack if you’re the emperor’s son. I have orders and I’m gonna follow them.”  

“Calm down, Taxal.” A deep voice breaks through their conversation. “I’ll walk with his majesty. Zarkon doesn’t want his son to feel too much like a prisoner. Orders directly from him.” Keith swings his piercing gaze in the newcomer’s direction. It’s Ulaz, his pointy ears flicking back in irritation at the guard’s reluctance. “Don’t believe me? Then go ask the Emperor yourself, I’m sure he’ll _love_ being questioned by the likes of you.”

“F-fine, but bring him back in time for his scheduled meal time. I don’t want to have to explain why the Crown Prince is missing.”

“Fair enough,” Ulaz replies, his gaze leaving the guard’s face and onto Keith’s. “Are you coming or not?” he gruffs with mild irritation.

“Y-yeah.” Keith stumbles out of his room, avoiding the other guard as he blindly follows Ulaz. There’s a quick burst of power in his steps as he matches the taller Galra’s stride. Once they round the corner, the hallway in front of them clear, Keith finds the confidence to start a conversation.

“What the hell did you mean that not every Galra is like Zarkon?” He has no idea where Ulaz is taking them, but technically this is what Keith asked for, to walk around the ship. Now he has to start mentally mapping out each corridor, marking possible exits for future reference.

“I’m sure that your species has had terrible rulers at some point in your short lives.”

“Unfortunately.” Keith’s mind doesn’t dwell on Earth’s history--it’s not his history anymore, anyways, he’s completely alien. There is no DNA tying him to Earth. He swings his gaze back and forth, hoping to retain most of what he sees--purple and silver corridors with a few access hatches scattered here and there. He has to wonder if Ulaz has caught onto what he’s doing.

Keith isn’t trying to be subtle.

“Well, right now Zarkon is one of those. He doesn't define us like how those humans didn’t define your entire race.”

“Tyrants on Earth only last for a few decades; yours last for 10,000 years and are still _ongoing_. I’m guessing you’re part of some resistance, so where the fuck were you all that time?”

Ulaz sighs and they stop walking. “Look, Prince, we’re lucky to have the support we do. In the early days, we could be executed on the spot if there was even a hint of rebellion, whether it was true or not.” There’s a pause as the Galra turns to look at Keith directly. “But now with Voltron and you, we--”

The abruptness of Ulaz shutting his mouth startles Keith as he is prodded by the butt of Ulaz’s gun to continue moving. His lips part, confusion and a small bit of anger ready to be laced in his words, but there is no time to speak. A few guards and a group of sentries round the corner; the sentries do not spare a glance at Keith and Ulaz as they simultaneously pass one another. The guards, on the other hand, salute Keith, right fists pressed against their chests.

“Vrepit sa!” they utter in passing. The guards and sentries soon disappear as quickly as they came.

Though the other Galra are gone and definitely out of hearing range--even with their advanced Galra hearing--Keith lowers his voice into a whisper. His voice clipped in worry that someone else will walk around the corner. “Will you tell me the name of this resistance?”

Ulaz’s yellow eyes pause on Keith’s own. “For your safety and for my fellow members’, I won’t.”

They begin to walk again, their footsteps in sync. The soles of Keith’s boots slap against the floor.  “How many of you are on this ship?”

“Only me and Thace. I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him yet, but I told him to get acquainted with your mate.” Ulaz’s gaze stays straight ahead, but Keith is still able to catch the slight tick of his jaws, almost as if the Galra’s lips are attempting to curl into a smile.

 _Oh_ , Keith thinks, _I’m not the only one here with a mate._

Ulaz continues to speak. “No one else aboard this ship is to be trusted.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child; I can figure that one out for myself.”

Now, Ulaz truly smiles, his head nodding. “Be smart but don’t become overconfident. And watch out for the witch.”

Subconsciously rubbing the tight collar around his neck, his skin prickles at the mention of Haggar, and suddenly images of Lance lying on the floor, dying until the child healed him, pierce his mind. He had been trying to forget them and now they’re back. Keith’s eyes fall to the floor, his stomach knotting.  

“Can you bring me to Lance?”

“No.”

Keith scowls, his eyes narrowing into a hard glare, though he knows it’s not Ulaz’s fault. He has lost track of their movements, realizing they’re in a completely new section now. One with a long window, spanning the length of the hallway, that illuminates the darkness of space. Little white lights are sprinkled all around the blackness. Smaller ships--fighters and escorts--surround Zarkon’s flagship. For the second time, Keith wonders where they are headed, but now he realizes that they must be traveling to his father’s base, the one Voltron tried to attack once before. It’s been ages since that battle, which had chucked him and Lance across the galaxy; it’s how they wound up in this clusterfuck. But, Keith has to remind himself, if he was never thrown out of that wormhole, he would never have met Sandra and would never have learned the truth about who he really is.

He no longer has to guess the way his real parents may have looked.  

“For a person with a secret organization, you sure like to talk about it,” Keith comments, his eyes and mind still stuck in the stars.

“I needed to get you up to speed on it fast. It’s best for all of us if you’re not in the dark.”

“And what about cameras? I’ve seen enough movies to know that a bad guy’s lair always has cameras.” Keith crosses his arms; he knows Ulaz isn’t the type to make stupid mistakes, but he has to ask.

“I don’t know what a ‘movie’ is, but I only took you through corridors with visual and no audio recording.”

The corridor is silent; it must be time to head back soon. They’ve been gone for a long time, but at least Keith was able to stretch his legs.

“We’re going to get you out, both of you,” Ulaz comments mostly to the stars.

“Why do you care so much about me?” Keith replies offhandedly. They’re already walking back the way they came. Keith’s body clenches, already anticipating being trapped in that room again. It’s a few minutes before Ulaz responds.

“You’re our chance of ending Zarkon’s tyranny.”

With that brief and utterly unhelpful explanation, Ulaz ceases their conversation as they round the corner to Keith’s room. The other guard from before sighs in relief, gently pushing him inside and locking his cell door, leaving Keith alone once again. He falls back onto his bed, his eyes drifting closed.  

He thinks about Lance and thinks back on his life pre-Voltron--how simple and easy the past seems to him now, but how difficult it was in those moments.

What Keith remembers most about Earth are the thunderstorms and the lightning flashes that illuminate his dorm at the Garrison and the patter of rain on the window panes as he tries to study but accomplishes nothing except chucking the book across the room, denting the cover. Even now, Keith doesn’t know what made his younger self join the Garrison; whatever Shiro had said back then has been lost to time.

He does remember that Shiro’s parents--though the most accepting out of all his foster families--still ignored him from time to time and blank stares were often sent his way whenever he entered a room. He wasn’t their own and he was definitely the lowest on their priority list. He definitely remembers being compared to Shiro in many ways behind closed doors, falling flat every time.

Maybe that’s why he joined the Garrison, to be better than Shiro. Top marks in class, fighter pilot status, and a dropout. Yeah, definitely better than Shiro.

Though he despised the Garrison while he was there, Lance had made leaving the place bittersweet. Back then, a part deep within the recess of Keith’s mind had already started developing feelings--though they were more emotions of a first crush than the unbreakable feelings of love he now has for the man. His laugh and cocky smile and annoyingly bright remarks in class always brought a smile to Keith’s gloomy face. Lance, with his dark blue eyes and brown skin and perfect hair, had been his last image of the Garrison as he walked through the deserted hallway, passing the class he should have been in, his seat already occupied by some other nameless student.

Before Keith can begin to nod off, his sharp eyes snap open as familiar screams holler in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ulaz might be a little ooc, but since he was only in one episode, I think I’m allowed to play around with his character. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Yap, that’s right, I’m adding in the Thace/Ulaz ship into this story; you can’t stop me:D
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains kinda graphic descriptions of torture

Keith pounds on the door, his mind racing as the screams continue to flood his room. They’re too familiar and it rips him apart inside. He staggers against the wall, crying to be released. He wants to find Lance; he needs to find Lance. It’s as if Keith’s life depends on it. He knows they’re hurting his lover. Those were Lance’s screams and it feels like Keith is being tortured right alongside him. Only, he wishes he really was, then maybe he would be able to take the bulk of the pain away from Lance and bare it all himself.

The entire ship rocks and he hears the stomping of feet scurrying past his room. The Blue Lion must have felt Lance’s distress, not that she will be able to do anything about it.

When his cell door opens sometime later--by this point Keith has become numb to the screams, his hands shaking as he curls into a faraway corner--a soft hand gently rests on his shoulder. With a glance upwards, he finds Ulaz’s warm gaze and sad expression.

It confuses Keith why he’s here, but right now, he could care less.

“Don’t worry, it will be over soon, my prince.”

Keith’s mind sparks as he throws himself at the Galra, weakly pounding his chest. “Y-you _bastard_! You should be helping him! Why, why are you letting him be tortured? You should have gotten us out sooner! I--” Keith quickly dissolves into deafening sobs that wrack his body in violent shivers. “I-I can’t help him. I should be the one in his place.”

Numb to the entire world, he barely feels Ulaz’s arms wrapping around his thin frame. “And if your positions were reversed, he would be saying the exact same thing.” If this was supposed to comfort Keith, it only causes him to cry harder and louder. The collar of his shirt and the ends of his long hair are soaked with his tears. “Your mate is strong, whatever it is they’re doing to him, he will survive it. Zarkon doesn’t kill people that are important, and luckily for you, your mate is very important to him right now.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Keith finally speaks, finally finding his voice.

“No.”

“You’re shit at comforting people, Ulaz.”

The Galra nods as if to say ‘this is true.’ “Your mate will stay alive for now, and I suggest you try to do the same.”

 _We’re breaking you out soon_ seems to be the unspoken sentiment between them. Unless that’s just Keith’s wishful thinking.

When his mind returns back to life, he is bombarded once again with Lance’s screams trailing in from under the door and through the air duct. A little calmer--but no less angry and worried and sick to his stomach--Keith wonders if Lance is far away and this is his Galra hearing at work.

Suddenly, everything is quiet. Calm and still. Even the engines have stopped their vibrations. No more screams, no more heartache, and Keith wants to ask what happened even though Ulaz wouldn’t know either. He doesn't think Lance is dead. No, he _knows_ Lance isn’t dead. But something strange tickles the base of his spine, an inkling of untapped power.

_What are they doing to Lance?_

No.

 _What is_ he _doing to them?_

* * *

Lance should have known he wouldn’t come back from this journey unscathed. He had already lost so many things: his family, his friends, his strong connection to his lion, his _innocence_ \--not that he minded losing the last part. The night he and Keith laid together had been his favorite in eighteen years. The way their body curled into each other with the silvery moonlight bathing their bare skin will forever stay with him.  

So losing one more thing didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

But the loss of hope hadn’t been on his mind that day.  

He should have known there was going to be torture involved. He really should have. But as he’s thrown into a room with a Druid and a hanging bar with shackles, he releases a clueless “What the fuck?” before his eyes widen frantically.

 _This is where you die,_ his mind unhelpfully supplies as Lance scrambles to the far side of the room, hoping a secret door will open up and allow him to escape. He has no such luck. Lance has seen enough movies to know what a torture room looks like, and even though the Galra are aliens and this is a space ship, everything is still fundamentally the same.

“Why are you doing this?” _What are you going to do to me?_ is another question on Lance’s mind, but this one he doesn’t speak out loud. He doesn’t want to find out; he’d rather be surprised.

The Druid, as Lance expected, gives no reply, his gray, pointed mask arching downward as he scans some computer fastened to the wall. A guard’s hand grips onto Lance’s wrist, dragging him across the floor to the high hanging bar. He stumbles to find footing as the guard hauls him up, clamping his wrists into the cuffs.

Lance has to stand on his tiptoes, trying release the pressure forced onto his back, only to give up soon after, allowing his body to hang. His shoulder’s scream in discomfort at the odd, uncomfortable position. But this pain, Lance knows, is meaningless in terms of what’s to come.

“Why are you doing this?” Lance reiterates, his gaze boring into the Druid who now stands a few feet away from him.

If mask contained eyeholes, Lance wonders if the Druid would be sending him a pitying stare because this time he answers Lance’s question. “To separate you from your lion of course.”

 _W-what?_ Lance’s mind sputters. _Is that even possible? Can a connection be forcefully broken? And what amount of power does that take? Wouldn’t be easier just to kill him, or do Paladin connections hold even after death?_ The bond with his lion is buried deep within his mind, his emotions, and mostly his heart. It has become integrated with his soul. He felt sick when Blue’s connection was weak, almost completely gone, when they were on that planet. But to be removed from her entirely… Lance doesn’t even want to dwell on what that will feel like.

“Oh, okay,” Lance says stupidly.

“This may hurt a little.”

His skin is a spiderweb of dark cracks as the Druid’s magic shreds him, touching his heart and mind. His thoughts and emotions. Everything becomes unraveled into a single thread that can’t be wound the same way twice.

Mentally ripped apart and turned inside out as his body burns has him screaming in pure anguish; his voice becomes hoarse after the first few seconds and he is barely able to create a sound, his vocal cords raw and damaged, but somehow he continues to scream. Lance isn’t sure how long this lasts, the Druid’s magic corrupting every inch of his body. He can’t think.  

Lance nearly throws up from the pain, bile dribbling off his chin and pooling with the blood on the floor. The manacles rip into his skin as his whole body hangs like a rag doll’s, limp and beaten.

They leave him alone after that, and Lance’s vision begins to fade in and out. In and out. He’s not sure how long he has been dazed, his mind terribly muddled and lungs barely holding onto the air he can breath in. Lance isn’t sure how long it’s been until he feels a familiar presence by his side. He weakly lifts his head, shock coursing through his body much like the magic but with a softer impact.

Keith stands before him, fully human. Staring sadly at Lance, he cocks his head, walking ever closer.

“W-what?” Lance sputters.

“Oh, babe, what have you gotten yourself into now?” A soft hand lays flat on his cheek; a thumb caresses his skin, wiping away a few wayward tears.  

Lance’s gut twists. “How’d you get here? I--” Lance stares in awe at his boyfriend. His arms strain against his shackles, desperately wanting to wrap himself in Keith’s embrace.

“I heard your screams.”

“But, but they just let you go?”

Keith shrugs his shoulder. “It’s not important how I got out.” His forehead gently rests against his, and Lance finally understands what has been silently bothering him all this time.

He can’t smell anything, on Keith specifically. His usual calming scent has vanished; there’s nothing distinct about him anymore. Keith smells like nothing. “Why are you here, Keith?” Lance leans forward to place a kiss on his lips, but he can’t seem to reach, no matter how far he stretches.

“I was worried about you. I was hoping to ease your pain.”

“By getting me out of these restraints?” Lance jingles the metal cuff against the bar for effect, but Keith’s glance doesn’t leave Lance’s face. “Are you going to help or what?”

“Let go,” Keith responds instead, his eyes dark and yellow.

“What?”

“Let go and the pain will go away.”

Lance’s eyes flash dangerously. “You mean, give up and die? Like hell I’m doing that. What the fuck, Keith?”

“It’s the only way.” A hand, now cold, rests on his cheek again. “I love you, Lance.”

“ _Keith!_ ”

The door opens and Keith disappears, dissolving into a silky sheen of smoke. When Lance blinks again, the smoke has vanished completely like it wasn’t even real to begin with. _Which of course it hadn’t been,_ Lance thinks as he bites his lower lip to prevent himself from crying. Nothing good is real anymore. He yearns to see his true boyfriend. The one who wouldn’t suggest for him to die, but to fight and live.

Is that really what his mind is telling him right now, to give up? Part of Lance believes it will work as there is no way he is getting out of here alive. And if he can, it won’t be with his same mental state.

Maybe it is better to die.

The Druid’s nails dig into Lance’s skin, gripping onto his chin and jerking his head upward. “We’re not getting anywhere with this, my liege.”

“Are you telling me you’ve failed?” comes Zarkon’s harsh voice. Through Lance’s horrible vision, the Emperor is a blob of darkness in the piercing white light. A haze of purple outlines his bulky figure.  

“Of course not, Sire, merely that we may have to try a different approach.”

“The Blue Lion has been in a frenzy for vargas, increase your power and it will work.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the Druid replies; his hand releases from Lance’s jaw as he bows to Zarkon’s retreating figure.

The pain returns and images--composed of reds and blues and purples--bloom behind his closed eyelids. Red tears streak down his cheek as he cries blood. Lance tries to latch onto Keith, his smile and voice and--the fleeting image is ripped away from his mind’s eyes and he howls. His breath lodges in his throat as his lungs choke on the dark magic drowning him. Skin on his arms and legs and chest and face rips apart into jagged slashes.

A new image is forced to the front of his mind. Blue light washes over him as he stares at the Blue Lion, crouching down and ready to pounce. She threateningly growls and Lance wants to take a step back, run even though this vision is all in his head and his legs are glued down, but he soon realizes that the lion’s yellow eyes are locked onto something behind him. Shadows loom from behind, rolling over the white plains of his mind and any happy memories Lance has left. His lion begins to run charging straight for Lance until she becomes smaller, passing into his body and merging with his soul.

He bursts with power; sparks crackle along his skin and her voice calls to him.

_Don’t worry, my Paladin._

When his eyes snap open, the Druid ceases his bombardment of magic, scurrying backwards. Lance’s eyes, pupiless and an intense fluorescent blue, narrow in on the Druid. Though chained, Lance flicks his fingers, catching onto the water inside of the beast in front of him. The Druid rises, his limbs limp and rigid at the same time as he walks forward. He struggles though, against whatever mystical force Lance has trapped him with. Invisible strings awkwardly jerk his limbs as Lance acts the part of a well trained puppeteer.

Lance has the Druid unlock the chains, but he hadn’t expected his body to be so weak and as his legs crumble, he sags to the floor. He kneels for a while on the cold metal, catching his breath, until he stands.

Without warning and without hesitation, he punches a hand through the Druid’s body, sliding through his skin and reaching for his heart. In one quick motion, Lance crushes his life force and the Druid blinks out of existence. A spark of light and then blackness.

The blue haze around his mind fades, his eyes return to normal, and he stares at the spot the Druid had once stood and at his hand, covered in black, sticky blood that’s not his own.     

He knows he should run, now that he is free.

But he doesn’t.

Lance falls to the ground and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be asking yourself, did Lance just bloodbend? The answer is yes, yes he did.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chap!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is one song that perfectly describes this story it’s My Demons by Starset

At one point Keith had fallen asleep on the floor and Ulaz had left. Now he wakes to complete silence and fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. His hands tremble as he clutches the blanket, that had been draped over him, in a suffocating grip. He’s going crazy; that’s the only sane way Keith can put it. Not being able to escape from this hell and find Lance is maddening. 

He wonders what happened to Lance as the screams stopped many hours ago and haven’t been heard since. It allows Keith to cherish a little sliver of hope deep inside of him--that maybe Lance is alive and unharmed and whole. The more logical part of his brain tells him that the only reason the screams have stopped is because Lance died. 

Keith can’t let himself believe that.

He  _ doesn’t  _ believe that.

Does he?

Violently shaking his head to dispel the awful thoughts, Keith releases an exhausted sigh, one that penetrates every inch of his room, reaching even the darkest corner. This is not the time nor the place to sink deep within himself. He can’t be consumed by his thoughts; he can’t let himself drown in his own misery. 

If Lance is still alive, Keith has to stay strong and alert.

If Lance is still alive, Keith has to rescue him. 

Shakely, he stands from the floor, a hand on the cold wall to brace himself. But even he can understand that whatever he is telling himself is pointless; it’s all just fake confidence in order to save himself (and Lance, if his lover is still alive).

_ Lance  _ is  _ alive, Lance  _ is  _ alive _

He will not allow himself to think anything different. 

Surging with some confidence, fake or not, Keith finds himself trudging over to the door, a grim expression plastered on his face. His ears flick from side to side in mild irritation--at himself--and worry--for whatever is about to befell them.  

He presses his right palm softly against the door, his ear following his hand’s movement. There’s a distinct heartbeat, multiple heartbeats, beyond the door. Keith can hear a soft murmur of a meaningless conversation exchanged between the two guards. Swallowing any objection to his--probably really stupid--plan, he lifts his head away from the door and his fingers curl into a tight fist. His claws prick his soft skin. 

Keith taps once then knocks hard enough to leave a few bruises on his knuckles. His hand stings. Once the ringing from the door fades, Keith calls out, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “I want to talk to Zarkon, to tell him I consent…. to everything.”

The door opens in a flash, and surprisingly Ulaz stands in front of him; unsurprisingly a couple of the regular Galra guards stand off to the side of Keith’s room. There’s a wicked gleam in Ulaz’s yellow eyes that Keith knows for a fact is an act--right? “Zarkon knew you’d break sooner or later.” 

The air surrounding Keith is harsh, subtly choking him as Ulaz’s words tumble from his lips. Yes, Keith is broken, but not in that way. They both know that. 

There’s some excuse Ulaz makes to the other guards, allowing him to be Keith’s sole guard as he walks him to Zarkon. Keith doesn’t care at this point; his eyes are directed ahead, the long, twisting hallway spanning out before him. Something unsettling sinks in his gut and for the first time in a long time he wonders what it will feel like to die. 

Is this what Lance felt like when he realized he was going to be tortured?

Keith would rather take a bullet to the head. It’s less painful that way. This anxiety of waiting for the inevitable is more agonizing than the actual blow that will end his life. The hallway looks longer now and Keith has to remember that Lance isn’t dead. 

So he will try not to die either. 

But with what he wants--will--do, it’s not a guess as to what will happen to him after. It’s a pretty concrete fact. The consequence of his actions will be death. Keith is predictable in any way, shape, and form; only Lance (and Sandra) saw something else that wasn’t boring and pitiful. Something worth loving. Something not worth tossing aside. 

So no, Keith will try not to get killed tonight, even if that is the most likely outcome. 

Ulaz doesn’t speak during their walk, and Keith has to physically swing his gaze to the side to make sure the Galra is still by his side. Ulaz’s breathing is as silent as his footsteps. 

Something cold and sharp is pressed into the palm of his hands. Keith subtly turns his gaze downwards to find a dagger softly pressed against his skin. It’s a stone gray, and a purple gem sits right at the beginning of the handle, creating a divider between the blade and the leather grip. A strange symbol on the gem is seared into the back of his eyes, and the blade easily casts his reflection, his yellow eyes and large ears and purple skin. Everything he never wanted to be.  

“Keep this safe; use it when you need to.”

Wordlessly, Keith tucks it behind his back, hoping it won’t show through his baggy shirt. Questions still run through his mind.

Ulaz continues. “I know you’re about to do something stupid.”

“Yeah,” Keith easily confirms. “How could you guess?”

The Galra cocks his head slightly, his brow narrowing in thought rather than anger. “The emotions in your eyes. It looks like you’re prepared to murder someone.”

Keith finds he’s able to chuckle at Ulaz’s words, but the sensation hurts as if someone has repeatedly stabbed him in the stomach. Wincing, he stops and silently vows not to laugh again until Lance is safe in his arms and they’re in their lions. Without Lance here, it seems wrong to laugh somehow. “Thanks for the weapon. It will make this a lot easier.” A thick pause crackles through the air. “You know,” Keith speaks again, turning around to finally face Ulaz. “I’m surprised you’re not stopping me.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out when things go to shit. I want to stop you, but this is something you need to do. I can tell.”

“Thank you.” 

Finally, Keith realizes they have stopped walking and he swings his body back around to find out why. They’re here; the walk finished too quickly, and the queasyness is once again residing in Keith’s stomach. He turns around again hoping to gather some last words of wisdom or encouragement from Ulaz, but the Galra has already started to walk away. Instead of calling out to Ulaz, Keith watches him disappear around the corner. Satisfied, he slaps his hands against the twin metal doors and shoves them open. 

“My son,” Zarkon greets pleasantly, his eyes flashing as Keith marches in, shrugging off the guards’ hasty advances. “I did not request an audience with you.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt Lance anymore! You fucking promised!”

Zarkon nods, standing from his throne and walking down from the raised platform. He motions for the few guards scattered around to exit. “You still haven’t done what I asked of you; I can tell you haven’t completely consented, no matter what you say. So no, I have not broken any promises.”

“You son of a bitch. I’m going to ki--”

“No, you aren’t.” For once, Keith welcomes the electrical shocks coursing through his body. They hurt like hell and cause him to sink to his knees immediately. He may release a roar of pain but his lips still stretch into a smile. Zarkon laughs at Keith’s demonic expression welcoming in the pain and misery. “You’re truly the monster I wanted.”

Keith jerks his head up, the electrical currents finally ceasing with their torture. His sharp yellow eyes bore into Zarkon’s skull as he continues to kneel, his hands flat on the ground to support him. “Did you torture him just to get to me?”

“No,” Zarkon answers honestly and Keith is surprised at that. “I needed to see if there’s a way to sever the bond between Paladin and lion, to cut it off completely. Because, Akira, even when you die, you will still be connected to your lion; I am still connected to the Black Lion after all these years. There’s a reason why you have such a strong connection to these beasts--” Zarkon smirks, lips twisting unnaturally “--I need a clean slate with the lions, to make them completely compliant with their new pilots.” 

Keith stands now, but Zarkon doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care. He wants to charge now, to wipe the smirk off of Zarkon’s face. His fingers curl into tight fists by his side; Keith continuously knocks his hands into his thighs as the anxiety builds within his body. He knows Zarkon can see the contempt swirling in his eyes, and the emperor simply continues to smirk as if he has already won.

Something flashes at the corner of Keith’s vision, and he soon watches Zarkon bring forth two bayards. One red, one blue. As the emperor slides his fingers across one of the bayards, Keith doesn’t miss the hidden meaning as to why Zarkon picked up the blue one specifically. But it only fuels Keith’s anger. Now, all he wants to do is grab both bayards and find Lance. The blade stuffed into his waistband harshly digs into his skin, a sharp reminder.   

Keith can easily see Zarkon reading the emotions flowing through his yellow eyes. “Your mate won’t need this much longer,” Zarkon comments, his fingers sliding over the dormant blue bayard. “It will need to find a new home soon.” 

Anger, red and hot and knotted, burns inside of Keith’s body. His hands tremble but his gaze never wavers away from Zarkon and he quickly charges forward. In his hand, Keith suddenly holds the dagger and without thought or warning, he brings the blade down into Zarkon’s body. 

* * *

Lance is sinking, drowning in his own thoughts and horrors. The Druid’s black blood still coats his hands; Lance hasn’t made an effort to wipe it off yet. It serves as a reminder of who he has become now. 

A monster. 

No one came for him in the end. Not even Keith. Do they think he’s dead? It has to have been a couple hours now since he’s stopped screaming. Why has nobody come to check on him? No Galra soldier has stepped foot in this room and no Druid has come to take place of his deceased friend. It’s dark in this room; Lance can barely see the floor in front of him, the wall behind him, and the door somewhere off to the left.

Strangely, the shackles seem to be positioned in a spotlight and he can easily pick out the glistening metal swinging in the darkness. 

Is this what it’s like to be a murderer? To feel dead inside as if he doesn’t belong in this plane of existence any longer?

Though the power of the Blue Lion has long vacated Lance’s body, it still bombards his thoughts. They way it made him feel--omnipotent and invincible as well as incredibly sick and disgusting. He hopes Blue will never share that dark part of her with him again. He feels empty now, like a potent drug has finally left his system. If this is what withdrawal is like, with the shaking hands and the frantic mind and the wanting of something more, he wants no part of it ever again. 

Even as Lance stares at the blood still coating his hands--it’s almost dry now, cracking across his skin and making his hands extremely stiff--he knows never to tell Keith of this. If Lance can’t live with what he did, he doubts Keith will be able to stay with him once he knows that truth.

And right now, Lance physically and emotionally needs Keith to stay; he needs someone who still believes in him and cherishes him unconditionally. For once, he will be selfish without feeling guilty. 

This is a secret Lance will take to the grave.

For now, he just wants to sleep, so he does. 

Sometime later, Lance wakes with a harsh shove to his shoulder. He groggily blinks upward at a Galra soldier peering above him. He doesn’t even release a sigh of relief when he finally makes out the familiar face. 

“Thace? What are you doing?”

“I’m here to rescue you.”

“‘Kay, so we’re leaving now?” Lance asks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He forgets about the blood on his hands, and the part that was still wet is now smeared underneath his eyes and on his forehead. 

Thace sends him a concerned gaze, but seems to have put the pieces together himself. It’s not hard. Lance was alone in this room with a Druid and now Lance is the only one left standing. “Yes; can you stand?”

“I think so.” The first few attempts are a disaster; Lance continually falls to the floor or into Thace. But soon enough, his legs strengthen, and he stands with no assistance. “What’s the plan?” Lance inquires as they slowly make their way to the door. 

“To run like hell to your lions and leave.”

_ Which are probably in the most heavily guarded place on this ship next to Zarkon’s throne room?  _ Yeah, great plan. “What the hell type of plan is that?”

“A plan B of sorts,” Thace replies calmly, his head arching around the corner as he opens the door.

“Really? ‘Cause that sounds like a plan F as in we’re all  _ fucked _ .”

“Trust me, Paladin.”

When Lance steps out into the hall, he frowns, his eyes flickering up and down, searching for something--no, someone. “Where’s Keith; shouldn’t he be here with you if we’re going to escape?”

Thace shakes his head. “I’m not sure where the Prince is. That’s Ulaz’s job; we’ll meet them in the docking bay.”

A low, threatening growl escapes from the back of his throat and his eyes turn dark; danger flashes through them. “You  _ don’t  _ have him? So you don’t even know if he’ll be there when we show up? I--”

“Look, Paladin, I don’t know what happened in that room nor do I care to experience whatever you did to that Druid, but you have to trust us. We’ll get you both out alive.”

Thace’s words do calm Lance down slightly, enough for him to weed through some of his frazzled thoughts. “We also have to get Talia, the healer child. I promised.”

“Paladin, we don’t have time--”

Suddenly, Lance’s hands find purchase on Thace’s uniform and he slams him up against the nearest wall. His lips are bared and his eyes narrow as his face inches ever closer to the Galra’s face. “I promised and I never break my promises. I will rescue her with or without your help!”

Thace smirks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of Galra blood running through your veins.” A tense pause follows and the need to punch Thace increases as Lance’s hands begin to shake. “But to prevent you from being captured again, I will help you find that girl, quickly.”  

The energy that holds Lance together quickly drains away and he releases Thace from his grip. 

“I know you have no reason to grant my request, so thank you.” 

The stomping of footsteps startles both of them. Lance reflexively reaches for his non existence bayard and scowls when his hand comes away empty. Thace levels his blaster. Lance resides to lifting his hands up in front of his face, his feet sliding into a fighting position. 

He was never the best at hand-to-hand combat training at the Garrison. 

Thace, on the other hand, quickly lowers his gun upon immediately seeing the Galra rounding the corner. He calmly whispers the name “Ulaz” but Lance is still able to pick up his mumble. Not ready to trust anybody, Lance only lowers his fists slightly, his body still tense.   

Ulaz’s breath is short as he stops in front of them, his eyes only on Thace. His words are rushed in the way one’s are when there is no time left. “We must hurry; the Prince is in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads up: updates will probably be slow for a short while (for all my fics) because I’m participating in two zines (Potential and APHELION) so I have to focus on those klance wips.
> 
> Also Happy 1 year anniversary to Voltron tomorrow!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Please leave comments/kudos:)


	22. Chapter 22

Alarms blare the minute Ulaz finishes speaking, and there is not a minute of hesitation nor a minute to internalize his words. Lance sprints down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the cold metal. Blood roars into his ears and for once all he sees is the color red and not blue. Distantly, he can hear the light breaths of the two Galra behind him, trying to catch up.

“Paladin!” Thace calls after him, but Lance won’t respond. His mind is too focused on one task and one task alone.

_ Keith, Keith, Keith _

_ I  _ will  _ find you and I  _ will  _ save you _

_ Just hang on a little longer _

_ Please _

Somewhere in Lance’s thoughts are the sounds of Ulaz’s and Thace’s frantic voices, the hum of the engine, and the pounding of his feet against the ship’s floor, but all he can discern is the thumping of his heart and the way his mind screams at himself to move faster and faster and faster--

Lance trips over nothing, his feet stumbling into each other, and it quells his red-hazed mind enough to allow his body to rest before his heart rate races again. For a second everything is calm and quiet and peaceful like a song, silky and smooth, that easily lulls a child to sleep. It doesn’t last long enough, though, and he’s urging his body to run again, to break its limit and then go impossibly further.

He’s still so tired after that influx of power, but he has to keep going for Keith.

He has to do this for Keith.

He has to save him.  

Lance regrettably stops at a fork in the hallway, finally realizing that he has no clue where Keith is or where he’s going. A hand lightly grips his shoulder, and Lance swings his gaze around to find Ulaz staring at him. “The prince is in the throne room. Take the left hall and the keep right after you climb the stairs. 

Lance doesn’t even mutter out a thanks, his eyes already gazing off into the distance and silently tracking the path he has to take. “You two find Talia; I’m going to save Keith.”

He disappears before the two Galra even release their next breath.

* * *

The blade barely slices through Zarkon’s armor and Keith realizes his mistake in an instant. He should have gone for the neck. Luckily, it startles the emperor enough to drop the bayards and back away in haste, clutching his torn armor.

In the few seconds Keith has, he throws the dagger away in favor for his bayard, and as he frantically reaches for it, a quick jog coiled tight in his legs, he accidently kicks Lance’s bayard towards the doors. But that doesn’t matter now, he’ll grab it when he finishes the job he’s set out to accomplish.

When Keith picks up his bayard, the grip nestled snug in his hand, there is an agonizing second where nothing happens, but slowly the bayard begins to take shape. It elongates, two sides stretching farther out instead of one, and both of the ends begin to sharpen. A faint glow that was never there before dusts Keith’s cheekbones and the small area of the floor around him. His weapon, now a dual-blade sword, is perfectly balanced in his hand. The glow, as Keith quickly discovers, radiates from the purple tinted blades; in fact, the whole bayard is more a mixture of shades of purple than the color it used to be-- _ should _ be. 

He swings it a few times to understand the blade’s movements and manner of attack. Keith is aware of his audience, but he tries to pay the emperor no mind. A wary smile creeps up on his face. A weapon has never felt more at home in his hands as this one does.

Zarkon releases a small chuckle, his eyes glued to the bayard Keith daringly points at him. “No matter what happens now, you can never be rid of your Galra heritage and who you  _ really  _ are.”

His purple knuckles bleach to white as he tightens his grip. “I may be Galra, and my life may never return to the way things were, but you’re not my father. You never were!” Keith glare hardens, crackling in the silent air. “You never raised me or loved me; you never did anything a father should. So yes, you donated some of your DNA to me, but that’s all. You’re just another fucker trying to impose your views on the defenseless.” The bayard glows impossibly brighter, now casting dark shadows across Zarkon’s face. “Well, I’m not defenseless anymore!”

“Listen here--” Zarkon’s voice begins to rise slightly, eyes narrowing and gaze foreboding. 

“I won’t let you hurt Lance ever again, and if that means killing you, I will!” Keith screams.

“That human doesn’t deserve your protection. His race will be eradicated soon enough.”

Keith continues to point his new weapon at his father, daring him to start a fight. “He’s my mate, and I love him with every fiber of my being. But you will never be able to understand that.” 

“You’re right, I can’t,” the emperor simply replies, a light chuckle at the end of his words. 

Once again, lightning courses through Keith’s body, the black collar sparking and singeing the skin of his neck and ends of his hair, but it only tickles. He’s numb to all forms of pain now, and in some strange, sick way, it feels refreshing. 

For a brief moment he is thrown back to a time when he was small and naive, gazing out at the stars and wondering what it would be like to belong. His current foster parents argued in the background; the argument was probably about him. It was always about him, and he knew that in a week or two he would be pawned off to the nearest orphanage. Then the cycle would start again, only this time he would be a little older and a little less naive, but the stars would be the same. 

Now he finds himself actually living amongst the stars, surrounded by loved ones who have been torn away from him. Keith had always wanted to know his biological family--always silently praying that they would come back and realize their mistake in letting him go--but currently he would prefer nothing more than to break away from his father’s gaze and unlearn the story of his mother’s death.

Bayards clash together in a flurry of sparks, and Keith hastily rolls away as Zarkon’s wip smacks the air over his head, almost catching his hair in the mini windstorm that follows the powerful swing. 

Though without learning of his parent’s tragedy, without ever being thrown out of that wormhole, he would never have grown close to Lance. They would probably still be arguing, still too stubborn to admit their overflowing feelings of affection for one another. And though the memories of his blood-family will forever stay with Keith, it is better than having a pained heart while pining after the one he loves. 

Energy shoots through his veins at the mere thought of Lance. Keith practically imagines his lover lying somewhere dark and damp, a thin frown plastered on his face, his eyes worn, his whole body depleted. He’s not sure how much torture Lance had endured and he’s not sure he ever wants to know. It will destroy him just as much as it must have destroyed Lance.

But Keith has to remember that Lance is strong--stronger than him in almost every way--and if there is one person who would survive the torture with most of their sanity in tact, it would be Lance. Yet, he has to wonder if he’ll see any change in Lance, whether in his demeanor or attitude or outward appearance. It won’t matter, though, because Keith still--and will always love him. Besides, they both have changed on this trip, and Keith just prays it’s for the best.

_ Will their other friends notice a change? _

Keith begins to charge again, dual-blades spinning in his hand ready to land a blow, but at the last second he has to veer to the side to avoid Zarkon’s counter attack. His mind is too quick for his body and the unexpected movement has him stumbling, sliding to the floor as his feet fail him. His bayard slides out of his hand only a few inches away. Keith’s heart still races as adrenaline races through his body. 

His fingers graze the handle just in time to raise it over his head as Zarkon’s weapon comes crashing down. The motion causes Keith’s arms to vibrate as they’re pushed closer and closer to his body, and he quickly begins to stand before Zarkon can directly attack him like that again.  

Keith’s not sure how much longer he can hold out.

But he doesn’t care anymore.

He started this and he will finish this.

Soon enough, the two once again begin their strategy of attacking and avoiding--though the avoiding aspect is more brought by Keith. Zarkon taunts him throughout their battle, but Keith sinks into his own mind instead, not risking rising to the bait as he would have done if his opponent was Lance. 

_ Lance _

His heart aches again.

Keith’s bayard is a whirl of reds and purples in his hand as he dances to a routine in which  Zarkon takes the lead. Once in awhile he will catch a flash of his purple skin as their weapons connect.

For the first time a jarring thought almost stops Keith in his attack. What will he tell the other Paladins? As well as Allura and Coran, whose society was completely wiped out by the Galra. By Keith’s father specifically.  He can imagine the way those two will look at him--with suspicion, warriness, and most likely anger--and Keith knows that in their hearts they would never be able to trust him again even if they pretend otherwise.

An ugly realization settles deep within Keith. No, he doesn’t want to tell anybody, not yet at least and probably not ever, and he shouldn’t have to if he can ever control this transformation. This is one secret that should stay only between him and Lance and should only be brought up as a set of unspoken gazes or behind closed doors. 

The thought, as harmless as it seemed in his mind, causes Keith to miss an attack he should have blocked. Zarkon’s sword slices through Keith’s shoulder. There are a few droplets of his marron blood on the light purple blade as he whimpers slightly, knees about to buckle. He roughly presses a hand to his gushing wound, but it’s of little use; he can feel the warmth of the blood trickling through his fingers and staining his skin.

It begins to splatter on the floor when he finally moves, wobbling slightly to dodge the next set of attacks.  

“You’re too weak, son,” Zarkon sneers as his strength increases in ferocity.   

Keith won’t win this, he soon realizes, Zarkon had been holding back this whole time. 

He’s too hot headed and stupid and these traits seem to have finally caught up with him.

If he has to go like this, his last thought will be of him and Lance on a beach, sand pooling inbetween their toes as the water laps silently at their bare feet. Lance’s arm will around his waist as he presses a soft kiss into his forehead. The sun will be setting behind them, the last few rays dancing across Lance’s skin and playing with the color of his blue eyes. 

Yes, that’s what he wants to imagine, and maybe a part of Keith that isn’t drowning in adrenaline and sweat would want to make that fantasy a reality… when they get back to Earth. 

Earth is a lifetime away though and Keith promptly forgets about it.

Woozy from blood loss and with his vision already fuzzing at the edges, he falls right into Zarkon’s trap. His father grips him by the neck, his sharp claws digging into Keith’s exposed skin above and below the collar. 

“No.” Blood dribbles down Keith’s chin as he speaks.

“You have too much of your mother in you, boy. You do as I say!” Zarkon’s fingers wrap tighter around Keith’s fragile neck. 

Breaths are harder to come by now; it has Keith wheezing for any relief. 

“No, you’ll have to kill me.” Keith swallows back the pain. It seems like he has broken a few ribs when he wasn’t looking.  “You can’t control me anymore.” Keith closes his eyes, his body relaxed as a small smile penetrates his face. “Yeah. You can’t control me anymore.” 

Sparks dance along Keith’s skin, and a blaze of heat rushes across his body. Though it’s painful to some extent--the way this transformation rips across him, untangling his molecules and reforging them into a different alignment--his heart beats to a regular rhythm. He has never felt more at peace. 

Zarkon’s claws dig deeper into his throat and he can feel the hot, sticky blood run down his neck and pool into his collarbone. But when Keith finally opens his eyes, he knows for certain that his irises once again hold tints of gray and purple, that his skin is pale and human. 

It feels nice, for once, to be back in his own body. His eyesight is less sharp and his body is even weaker than it was in Galra form, but now he feels whole and where he should be. If he is to die right now, he’s glad it will be as a human and not as his father’s spawn.

Two laser shots puncture the outer layer of Zarkon’s armor, and because of the unexpected hit, the claws around Keith’s throat loosen and he drops to the floor. Sputtering and rubbing the already vibrant bruise around his neck, Keith turns his head to where the shots resonated from. Lance, body tense and rigid, holds two small guns, his bayard having split in two, contorting into two new shapes that are smaller and sleeker and more manageable to hold in each hand.  

“Get away from my boyfriend, asshole!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t planning on updating today but I wrote the chapter late last night (like at 1am) and I figured I should post it now instead of waiting a week to do so.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> It only went through a quick edit so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	23. Chapter 23

“Keith, babe, please run towards me. Forget about him; we’re leaving.” 

A small smile winds its way up onto Keith’s exhausted face and he twists his body, both feet smacking into Zarkon’s surprised face with a sharp crack. The emperor falls back onto the steps of his throne with a crash, eyes closed and whole body practically lifeless. That would be one hope Lance knows not to pay much attention too. The emperor’s not dead and he would be after them soon enough.

Keith stands over his father’s fallen figure with his lips parted as if he wants to say something or even just to spit on his unconscious form. But he closes his lips without having uttered a word, only to then stare at Lance with comically wide eyes drowning in horror.

There’s a crackling of power behind him and Lance turns around just in time to find himself face to face with a Druid. Eyes blown wide, Lance is shellshocked for a moment. His mind reluctantly drags him back to a dark cell and his hand unnaturally inside someone’s body, extinguishing their life. His entire body shivers in disgust as it locks into place and he’s unable to move. Lance can feel the power though, emanating from the Druid’s hand, ready to send a bolt of magic straight through him. Keith’s voice is the only thing that prevents him from dying.

“Lance! Duck!”

He’s fast enough to avoid death, but his reaction time is too slow to avoid all of the magic. A small bolt cuts deeply across his cheek, disappearing into his hairline as he rolls away from the black magic. It stings and it bleeds, but for now, it doesn’t bother him.  

As if the power in his body has been turned back on, Lance’s fingers curl around his bayard and shoots the Druid with perfect accuracy. He explodes into a mess of sparking lightning and then disappears with a pop, just as the last one had.

He hopes he’ll be able to put this death out of his mind, but he knows his brain is already keeping tally of every death he has ever caused.

Keith grabs his hand and they race away from the throne room. Their feet pound on the floor as hard as their hearts pound against their chests. Lance’s palms are sweaty and they almost slip out of Keith’s grasp. He has to stumble along after Keith who seems to have found a new source of energy in adrenaline even though he’s injured. 

“Keith, Keith, I think it’s okay to stop for now,” Lance huffs out.  

His lover glances back and stops immediately. “Of course, sorry.”

Lance stares at Keith, trying to regain his lost breaths. His long hair is a mess, his shoulder is bloody--but at least it seems to have stopped flowing--and his neck is bruised. Black and purple spots line his neck like a necklace, which mirror the actual collar he continues to wear, and Lance soon realizes that in the right light the bruises form a large hand print. He becomes angry all over again.

Lance raises his bayard. 

“Hold still, please.”

A laser bolt whizzes past Keith’s neck. It catches the ends of a few locks of hair, scattering small pieces of hair to the ground, but that electric collar immediately falls from Keith’s neck. It lands in a smoking heap, clattering on the floor, and Keith, scowling at the device, swiftly kicks it away from him. He rubs the new burn spot on his neck that stands out against all the bruises.

Trying to quell the guilt rising in his throat, Lance places a sweet kiss on the tip of Keith’s nose. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be, Lance,” Keith easily responds, wrapping his arms around Lance’s neck and resting his forehead against his. He winces slightly at the pain the gash on his shoulder must be causing. “Thank you.”

“I almost forgot what your human form looked like,” Lance smiles, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth Keith’s body sends him when pressed against his skin. 

“No you didn’t,” he simply says, “It feels good to be back though.”

“It feels great to have you with me again.”

“I don’t think I can survive you leaving my side like that again,” Keith hiccups; tears begin to well up in his eyes. “T-this is all my fault; I caused you so much pain. You got  _ tortured  _ because of me. I--I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

“Keith, babe, look at me.” Gray-violet eyes blink up at him, a little wet with unshed tears. “None of this is your fault; I’m here, I survived. We’re together now.”  

A loose tear drips onto the tip of his thumb.

“We’re together now,” Keith repeats.

At one point, either Lance or Keith break away from their quiet little reunion and drag the other one through the halls. Keith takes the lead though, guiding Lance through the unfamiliar hallways to the hanger with their lions. There is never an ounce of hesitation whenever they reach a place with multiple paths to take. It’s almost a miracle that they haven’t run into anyone yet.

Lance knows Keith must have been planning an escape, studying everything he could while they were captured. God, his boyfriend’s so smart; he loves him.

The sound of the alarms is the soundtrack to their daring escape.

When they finally find large twin doors leading to the cargo bay, Keith tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and sends Lance a dazzling smile. “This is it,” he says, placing his hand on the control pad and opens the doors.

“I am  _ so  _ ready to leave this place.”

A pair of boots clomp up behind them and Keith whips out a silver blade, placing it right next to the stranger’s throat faster than Lance’s eyes can track and much faster than the Galra’s reflexes. Lance’s mouth pops open in surprise and he frantically waves his hands.

“No, no, no, Keith. He’s a good guy; he helped me escape. He’s with Ulaz.”

“Oh,” Keith blinks, backing away quickly. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Thace rubs his neck; a few droplets of blood pepper the pads of his fingers, and Lance realizes Keith must have nicked him--probably on purpose as he would never mishandle a knife. “I see Ulaz gave you a dagger.” Thace’s eyes land on the blade still clutched in Keith’s hand, whose posture is anything but relaxed despite Lance’s assurances.   

Instead of gazing at Keith’s new--and definitely awesome--weapon, Lance tries to peer around Thace’s large figure, searching for the other person he has been dying to see again lately. But there’s nothing behind Thace or next to him; in fact, the three of them are completely alone in this hanger. This observation begins to bother Lance as alarms continue to holler all around them.

“Hey…” Lance starts, baring his teeth. 

“Wha--”

“Where the hell is Talia?” Lance grips Thace’s uniform. “You promised,” he seethes. He can feel Keith’s firm grip on his shoulder and his name being called out in a worried and overly confused tone, but he ignores all of these things for now. 

“Relax, Paladin, she is safe with Ulaz right now.”

“When I said you two needed to save her, I thought it was obvious that she would be brought back to me!” Lance grits, shoving Thace lightly but not at all gently.

“Lance!” Keith’s sharp voice cuts through and his hands fall away from Thace’s uniform. “It’s going to be alright; she’ll be safe with them.”

“Right, right,” Lance mumbles, his body leaning against Keith’s who comes closer to support him. “I’m sorry.” 

Thace’s next response is calmer, quieter even, but it’s slightly clipped as he rubs the wrinkles away from his shirt. “You and I both know that that child can’t come back with you. She has no place with Voltron. We’ll keep her with us until this is all over.” Thace widely gestures to the cargo bay they’re in and the shielded lions as if that can easily sum up everything.

Lance lowers his gaze, nodding in a reluctant agreement. Distaste itches at the back of his throat.

“Speaking of people to save,” Keith adds his own voice to the conversation, walking in front of Lance to speak with Thace directly. “There’s a woman named Sandra; she lives on Tazer. Please get her off that planet. I have a feeling Zarkon will be after every person that has a connection to me.”

“Of course, my prince.”

“And if she wants to join your rebellion you let her.”

“Of course, my prince.”

They stand still for too long--it’s probably only been a second or two but he believes that it has been an hour--and Lance’s legs jitter as anxiety builds up inside his gut. Thace addresses Keith again, his yellow eyes dark and brows furrowed. “But you have to promise me something before I allow you to go, Prince. You must stay safe, for all of us. The Blade of Marmora wants, or more accurately,  _ needs  _ you to rule once Zarkon is defeated to bring us out of an age of tyranny.” 

Keith practically scoffs as he rolls his gray-violet eyes. “But I’m a half breed and his son, why the hell would anyone want  _ me  _ to rule? 

“Because you’re Galra and more importantly a Paladin of Voltron. Everyone will listen and respect you--Hurry, leave now! You’re the last hope for the Galra.” Thace rushes his last words, beginning to push the two closer to their lions, but Keith seems locked in his own little world, mulling over Thace’s words. 

Lance half expects Keith to disagree and create an argument against the Galra’s words--because to Lance they are lacking a whole lot of explanation and have only been given the Sparknotes’ version--but he simply bites his lip, whirls around, and says,

“You better keep both Sandra and Talia safe, or there is no where in this universe where you two can hide.” Keith pokes the Galra soldier in the chest, eyes narrowed and mouth stretched into a thin line.

“We will.”

Lance watches Thace slink away, hiding from anyone who might be coming to look for the escaped prisoners. He parys to God that Talia will be safe with them, and he almost begins to beat himself up over not being able to save her himself--Lance hopes she’s not scared, though if she is, she won’t show it. A warm hand slides into his own and Keith relieves all his worries with one of those secret smiles.  

Lance sends Keith a sideways glance accompanied by a smirk. “It must feel great to be able to order people around.”

Beaming sarcastically, he replies with “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Spoken like true royalt--” Lance gasps, unable to finish his sentence as Keith suddenly shoves Lance to the ground with all his strength. He releases a startled yelp as a sprinkling of pain sprints across his shoulder though Keith bares the brunt of the impact. He rolls off Lance, landing with a thump on the floor.

Keith’s eyes become glassy, welling with tears from the pain, but Lance can tell he’s mostly out of it, probably on the verge of unconsciousness. A gaping whole in his back practically billows steam from the laser impact. Lance almost pukes from the smell of burnt flesh drifting into his nose. 

“You stupid idiot; why do you have to be so brave all the time?” The guard that shot at them had already been disposed of, his lifeless body lying in a heap not far away and a silver dagger sticks out from the carcase. He had found the dagger on Keith’s person, his bayard having slid out of his grasp upon sudden impact with the ground, but it had only taken him a second of thought to whip it at the guard. Lance didn’t miss; he’ll never miss. 

One more to add to his tally.

Keith’s head lays in Lance’s lap and he strokes Keith’s damp hair. “You’ll be okay, baby, everything will be okay.”   

Lance gazes at both lions, his eyes glistening with tears and his mouth a trembling frown. Slowly, he stands and walks towards them. He stretches out a hand, gently brushing over the Red Lion. Even without being her paladin, he can sense her distress and worry and unadulterated hatred for the Galra and everyone else who would cause her pilot harm. 

He can’t help but agree.

“Please,” Lance pleads, his head resting against the snout of the Red Lion, “Please follow us; Keith is in no condition to pilot you and I have to keep an eye on him. But we can’t leave you behind.”

Keith groans on the ground, his eyes fluttering open and closed as if they can’t decide on what to do. A pool of blood begins to form under Keith, and Lance’s anxiety begins to worsen. 

_ Of course, Paladin, but you’re in no shape to fly either _

Well one of us has to.

As Blue and Red take off with barely a command from Lance, he lays Keith down on the floor, stumbling slightly because of the turbulence. He wonders if the Galra are shooting at them; he hopes they’ll be able to escape. Drowning out everything around him, Lance focuses on Keith. The wound on his back hasn’t stopped flowing with blood since he had been shot; no matter how much pressure Lance applies to the wound, it just can’t seem to clot itself. 

His eyes land on a few loose panels still hanging on the wall from his lion’s quick repair job. He shoots at one of them with his bayard until a chunk falls to the ground, large enough to comfortably hold in his hand. 

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt and leave a scar, but I can’t have you dying on me.”

Keith can barely whimper out a response, but he slowly nods his head, knowing what’s to come. Lance heats the metal shard, concentrating the laser on it until it pulses with a vibrant white. Heat shimmers off it in small waves. 

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Lance quietly asks, the hot metal inches away from Keith’s skin. Wordlessly cold fingers worm their way into Lance’s grip. They give an impossibly hard squeeze even before Lance applies the pain.

When the metal hits Keith’s flesh, searing the wound closed, he arches his head back, mouth wide open in a soundless scream and he nearly breaks all of Lance’s fingers. Keith’s eyes shed fat tears as they bubble up and roll down his cheek to land on the ground with a loud splash.

“It’s over, shh, it’s over now. I’m so sorry.” Lance throws away the metal shard, clutching Keith’s body instead and softly rocking him.

“Thank you, Lance,” Keith whispers in his ear, his voice almost inaudible even at this close range. “Thank you for saving my life.” 

They stay like that, holding each other as if one of them would disappear at any second, for many hours, content with the sound of each other breathing and the beating of their hearts. At one point, Keith falls back into a state of unconsciousness. Lance drags a hand through his tangled black hair, pulling lightly at the knots and avoiding the clumps that had become sticky with blood. He presses a light kiss onto his boyfriend’s forehead and leaves him to rest on the ground as he takes position in the pilot's chair.

He can see the Red Lion flying beside his and he hopes she can’t feel her paladin’s pain--even though he already knows she can.

“We need to go home, Blue. But I don’t know where they are.” He’s slightly disappointed when she doesn’t respond back, but since she’s linked with him, she must be feeling his pain as well. He wonders how the Lions can bare all of these emotions. Lance wants to ask her about the power she granted him too, but it soon fades from his mind as he gazes out at the stars and then back at Keith, whose chest still rises and falls despite everything he went through today. 

At one point he succumbs to sleep, lulled by her soft purrs, knowing she had been listening, and doesn’t wake again until he hears his name being shouted.   

For the first couple of seconds, Lance is confused. The voice he hears does not belong to Keith, who, to his worry, is still asleep, but it belongs to someone he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Hunk’s beautiful face fills the viewing screen of his lion and Lance almost bursts into a round of happy tears. “Lance! Lance! Are you there? Lance--”

He has never responded to someone faster in his life. “I’m here.  _ Gracias a Dios _ , we finally made it. We’re home.”

Another person pipes up and he’s never felt such a wave of relief wash over him. “Glad that you guys are finally back. You worried us,” Shiro says, “But we’ve been trying to contact Keith; he’s not responding.”

For that one second of hope, a mountain of despair soon washes over him and Lance’s eyes visibly darken; his hands begin to shake, though he hides this from view. “Keith’s--Keith got hurt. We need to land now,” his voice cracks slightly.

“Roger.”   

When both lions land safely in the castle, home at last, he quickly exits his lion with Keith. Their friends are already waiting in the hangar. All of them are back together again. They finally made it.

“We need to get him to a healing pod!” Lance practically yells, carrying a limp Keith in his arms. Dried blood coats his arms and his shirt; he knows most of it is Keith’s from before he cauterized the wound, but he has to wonder what portion is his own. Lance can tell that the cut on his face still oozes whenever he moves his mouth too much. A stream of warmth trickles down his neck.

Someone, he’s not sure who, maybe Coran, maybe Allura, quickly takes Keith from his arms, rushing to the healing pods as fast as possible. With his arms empty, Lance can’t help but feel like he lost a part of himself. His skin is cold now and his body shivers.

Everyone surrounds him, but he can barely make out their faces or distinguish their individual voices from the chatter that aimlessly floats around him. He feels alone now and proceeds to wrap his arms around himself, trying to preserve the warmth Keith’s body had left behind. 

One voice above every other abruptly cuts through Lance’s foggy mind as a hand lightly holds onto his shoulder. It almost causes him to tip forward.  

“You need to be in one too,” Shiro says calmly but his eyes are serious and a worried frown graces his features. 

Lance’s hands are clammy, and his mouth, dry as a desert, can barely form words. But he’s stubborn so he speaks anyways. “No, Sh-shiro, I’m f-fine, I just--”

“You’re exhausted and injured, Lance, and you’re going into a healing pod right now.”

Lance promptly collapses into Shiro’s outstretched arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter officially ends part 2, now we head on to part 3 (which I really need to outline better).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter; they finally made it home!!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LANCE!!!
> 
> Edit: I just remembered that in chapter 19 I had his birthday be July 5th, so that is now fixed to the 28th

Keith is suspended in a dream for what feels like forever; he can’t open his eyes even if he wants to escape this realm his mind has created for him. But for once, Keith doesn’t want to leave. Everything is peaceful and relaxing, with the sun shining brightly in his face and Lance curled up by his side, his soft breaths fluttering through Keith’s hair as he snuggles closer.

It’s a paradise that Keith is rudely awoken from, jolting awake so fast that he falls to the floor, his knees banging on the cold ground.

He quickly scrambles backwards, his senses in a fury and unable to detect where he is. Still muddled from his dream, Keith’s mind is not fast enough to gain an understanding of his surroundings, and he starts sobbing, believing their escape had all been a figment of his imagination. It’s the only logical explanation.

 _Zarkon’s going to be standing over me and force me to submit,_ Keith bitterly thinks between breathless hiccups, _and Lance is probably dead. I bet everything had been fake, conjured up by Haggar._

Finally, his eyes begin to adjust to the blinding lights and his senses return to normal. A gentle hand pats his back as he’s pulled into a firm hug. Shiro’s scent immediately invades his nostrils, quelling Keith’s remaining frantic thoughts. No one can replicate this to such perfection.

“I thought we lost you,” Shiro says, his deep voice barely above a whisper, “when we couldn’t find you for those first couple of weeks. And then Lance shows up with you unconscious… I missed you, Keith. We all missed you and Lance.”

“I missed you too,” Keith sobs again, a fresh batch of tears streaming down his cheeks. “I missed all of you so much,” he says, lifting his head to watch all of his friends kneel by his side.

Their warm hands send a wave of comfort and ease through his body as they pat him on the back and shoulders and pile into a large group hug for a few seconds. For once, Keith doesn’t mind the tight contact, in fact he welcomes it, hoping he can hold onto it for a little longer. While everyone mutters words of relief and confusion at where they’ve been for the past who knows how many months, Keith dips his nose further into Shiro’s shirt.

He loves Lance with his heart and soul, but being home with his other family has brought upon a new batch a feelings that he has never shown anyone before. He won’t let anyone rip them apart again. Keith is going to make sure Lance and the rest of his family stay by his side for the rest of their time in space.

Shiro wraps his arms a little tighter around Keith, and he has never felt more loved in his brother’s embrace.

Immediately though, as his mind flashes with a set of blue eyes, he finally realizes that this reunion is missing one very important person. Keith gently detaches himself from Shiro and begins to shakily stand, his legs barely having regained their normal strength. His head throbs as he swings his gaze from side to side.

“W-where’s Lance?” Keith’s voice cracks.

“Right behind you,” Pidge comments, and Keith turns around just in time to watch Lance’s healing pod open with a swift hiss.

He’s about to spring forward, wanting to hold him in his arms, but to his dismay, Hunk beats him to it, catching Lance before he falls to the ground. It’s hard, Keith quickly finds, to have to start sharing Lance with everyone else again, especially when they’ve been alone together for what seems like months.

Keith frowns and pretends it’s not bothering him as much as it truly is.

Lance is quickly brought over to the group though, and Keith’s feelings of jealousy simmer away. They were stupid, and his hopes those emotions never show their faces again.

He aches to reach a hand out to Lance and hold him in his arms again, but Lance is scooped away into another massive group hug. It doesn’t really matter though as Pidge soon drags Keith into the hug too. Subconsciously, as he’s being lovingly crushed from all sides and it’s a little hard to breath, his fingers find Lance’s in the disarray, the warm embrace all to familiar. A shy smile is sent Keith’s way from Lance, who has barely even had time to open his eyes.

“I’m so happy you guys are all here,” Lance finally speaks, the hug breaking up. “You can’t understand how much I--we missed you.”

“We’re glad you’re back too,” Hunk says, hugging his best friend one more time with a giddy smile on his face. “It’s been so lonely without your crazy awesome ideas.”

“Oh, Lance!” Allura exclaims, interrupting the two’s reunion and consciously bringing a hand to her face as she stares at Lance closer, everyone following her eyes.

The healing pod hadn’t healed everything apparently--but Keith should have known this. After all, he now has a scar on his shoulder and he’s sure there’s an even nastier one on his back. Yet, his gaze saddens, knowing Lance hadn’t been able to escape unscathed either. A scar streaks across Lance’s right cheek disappearing into his hairline. It’s a light pink and already faded, but it’s there. It will be there forever.

Lance smiles as if already knowing what they’re staring at. Keith’s cheek twinges in sympathy. “I’m still beautiful, right?” Lance asks with a dramatic wave of his hand gesturing to his face.

 _Of course,_ Keith wants to say with soft eyes and lips dusting over Lance’s new scar. But he doesn’t; he only gazes at Lance, subtly nodding his head.

“Yap, Lance is all better,” the rest of the group playfully groans, smiling widely and the mood of the room easing into a quiet ambience as questions begin to be released. The dam holding everyone at bay has finally broken.

Coran wonders if they’ve met any new aliens for potential allies, Allura inquires about the lions, Shiro’s continues to be concerned about the state they found them in, Pidge is curious if they stumbled upon anything interesting, and Hunk asks the most important question of all… what the hell happened to them?

The noise pounds against Keith’s skull, vibrating his mind to the point where he can’t focus. His vision darkens for a moment, and when his eyesight readjusts, he finds himself in Lance’s arms, his boyfriend having hooked his arm around his waist and prevented a rather harsh crash to the ground.

“You okay?” Lance whispers, hoisting Keith back onto his feet, but he doesn’t leave his side.

“Yeah, yeah, I just blacked out for a moment. Too much noise,” Keith mumbles back, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“Waking up from the condition you’ve just been in, is jarring; plus, those healing pods are 10,000 years old. They don’t work like they used to,” Coran supplies a possible answer with a bit of a chuckle, “It’s probably best if you both sat down and relaxed for a few minutes.”

Wordlessly, Lance begins to guide Keith over to the steps, gently lowering him to the ground. He sits a few inches away from Keith but their bodies do not touch. Keith itches to remedy that, but he looks to the group standing before him instead, eyes blinking slowly.

“Alright,” Shiro says, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention, beginning to usher everyone out, “Let’s bring them some food and then they can answer our questions once they feel up to it.”

“Lance! Keith!” Hunk calls out quietly, but it still sends a jolt of muffled pain to Keith’s ears. “How does food goo sound?” There’s a small grin etched on his large face.

Yes, it’s good to be back.

“That sounds perfect, man,” Lance replies for both of them with a slight laugh.

The minute everyone is out of sight and behind closed doors, Keith practically pounces on his boyfriend, burying his nose into Lance’s neck. The ocean and sea salt and a summertime breeze weave their way into Keith’s nose, enveloping him and relaxing him enough that he practically falls limp into Lance’s lap.

Absentmindedly, he begins to trace Lance’s new scar, his fingers dancing lightly over his brown skin. Lance doesn’t seem to mind the motion and in fact tilts his cheek closer to Keith.

“Calm down there, space cat,” Lance mumbles into Keith’s hair before placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“That’s a new one,” he comments, his teeth nipping at Lance’s bottom lip.

“Yeah it is. Do you like it? I mean, if you don’t, I’ll sto--”

A hand lays flat on Lance’s cheek, directing his boyfriend’s gaze to his. Sparkling ocean-like eyes demand his entire attention. “It’s perfect, _babe_.”

“Cool, cool.” Lance nuzzles his nose into Keith’s hair, not bothered by the tangled, unwashed mess.

Keith desperately wants to express his love with words and emotions he didn’t know he possessed, but unfortunately, the nickname had dragged a thought right to the tip of his tongue, unable to be forgotten now. So he practically hollers what has been tickling at his mind since he woke up. “I don’t want them to know, Lance. I-I _don’t_ want them to know.”

He knows he doesn’t have to explain any further, and he buries his face back into the crook of Lance’s neck. His legs twist around Lance’s thin waist, situating himself better in his boyfriend’s lap.

A hand soothingly cards through his tangled hair, dragging lightly across his scalp. “It’s okay, Keith, I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.”

 _Secrets never stay secret for long,_ his mind comments somewhat mockingly, the sing-song voice filling his head. Keith closes his eyes to block it out, mentally humming the lullaby Sandra had taught to him.

Secrets will be the death of them.

“I’m also thinking,” Lance continues, rubbing soft circles into Keith’s back--he doesn’t miss how Lance’s fingers briefly still as he brushes over the new, lumpy scar. “We shouldn’t tell them about us--us dating, I mean. That secret can lead them away from your big secret, like we’re creating a diversion of sorts. ‘Cause we all know how Pidge gets when she thinks something is astray.”

Nodding, he says “That sounds like a good idea.” But, Keith frowns as he forces himself to think harder, a realization creeping up on his mind as he snuggles with Lance, that means he’ll have to leave his comfortable position on his boyfriend’s lap.

Barking laughter fills the air around them; Lance cackles at Keith’s expression as the thought dawns on him. He playfully punches Lance in the shoulder, but he knows Lance will miss the contact just as much as him. Stealing one last kiss, he moves to his previous position a few inches away just as the doors slide open.

* * *

When the food goo is gone, and Lance’s dish lands with a clink on the floor as he becomes all ears, story time begins.

There’s a bit of mumbling on how to start, but in the end Allura is the voice of reason. “Let’s just go around the circle, all of us sharing our separate adventures.” She gazes in Lance and Keith’s direction, her vibrant blue eyes filling with a slight bit of worry and wonder. “But you two can go last, if you’re still not feeling well enough.”

Lance stretches his arms, cracking his back slightly. “Sounds good to me. I just have one question before we actually start, how long were you all apart?”

“I think we were all able to find each other again in about a week at most, maybe less,” Shiro answers immediately as if having already expected the question. He probably had. Everybody else shrugs, agreeing with Shiro’s assessment.

Everyone was missing for a week and they were missing for _months_ , how worrying it must have been for all of them. Lance frowns at the thought, guilt rising in his chest even though he had no control over how long they were lost.

Pidge decides to break the sudden silence first, sitting to the right of Allura. “I was stuck in a trash nebulas with these cute fuzzy creatures, and now I wish I took one home.” She curls her fingers to show the small size of the alien creature, who must be no larger than her relatively small hand.

Lance coos, slapping his hands to his face. Glancing back at Keith to gage his expression, he watches a subtle smile form on his tired face, but Lance highly doubts it's because of Pidge’s little friends. “Aww,” Lance gushes, “Did you name them at least? Please tell me you named them!”

“Nah, I wasn’t really there long enough. But I did build trash models of all you guys.”

“You weren’t there long enough to think of a few names, but you were still able to build six people out of trash?” Keith questions, raising a thick eyebrow.  

“I was lonely, and I found the creatures after all that. Then they helped me build an antenna to contact the Castle and I was able to find everyone else, well,” Pide continues quietly, fiddling with her glasses, “Not you and Lance.”

Lane parts his lips to speak, to quell any apology that has begun to form on Pidge’s tongue, but Hunk saves the atmosphere of the room, his voice booming through the space.

“I had to save a planet of mermaids from being brainwashed!”

“Mermaids! Oh man, I miss all the good planets. You got to hang around with mermaids while I was tort--uh stuck with this guy.” Lance awkwardly jerks his thumb in Keith’s direction. _While I was tortured_ , Lance’s mind finishes for him, _come on, Lance, admit it to yourself._

Apparently, Keith seems to be amused with the prospect of resurrecting their old bickering habits as he immediately retaliates with “Yeah, and it was no walk in the park with you either.”

“Right, you guys must be sick of each other by now!” Pidge practically cackles. “I knew there was a reason for why it’s been so quiet in the Castle.”

Surprisingly, Allura responds next. “Though, and I’m sure we can all agree, after a while we did miss your stupid arguments.”

“Our arguments were _not_ stupid,” Lance replies as everyone nods their heads in agreement with Allura’s statement. “They were intellectual masterpieces.”

“They were stupid, Lance, just admit it. We once had an hour long debate about peanut butter and jelly.”

A delightful smile winds its way onto Lance’s face as he crosses his legs. “I’d forgotten about that one, though now I know where you get your weirdness from,” he mutters as an afterthought, praying no one picks up on his strange wording as it had accidentally slipped out.

Lance mentally slaps a hand over his mouth, releasing a quiet little “eep.”

A pained glance is written across Keith’s features as his cheeks flush slightly. Lance mouths a quick ‘sorry,’ berating himself on not being able to put a filter on his mouth. He has to do better; this is not a secret one wants to accidentally reveal. Besides, it’s not Lance’s secret to tell in the first place. He cards a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the greasiness coating his locks.

He needs a shower.

They both need a shower, Lance thinks, gazing at Keith with his nest of hair and dirt patches that still cling to his pale skin. There’s a bit of dried blood that has hardened on the side of Keith’s neck, but it’s barely visible. Lance knows he doesn’t look any better.

“So yeah, sure, we’re _totally_ sick of each other,” Keith lies, affirming Pidge’s original statement.

Lance does catch the odd stare flashing through Pidge’s eyes; at least their plan seems to be working.

“Well, Allura and I were stuck in a deaging loop as we went through the wormhole,” Coran’s voice echoes through the room, skipping over Lance and Keith to continue story time. He pulls on his thick mustache, twisting it slightly in remembrance of his adventure.

“I never knew what Coran was like as a teenager and now I wish I didn’t,” Allura grumbles, muttering something about weird music and angst.

“You should have taken pictures or videos, that would have been great blackmail material!” Lance exclaims and then receives a sharp high five from Pidge.

“I had the same idea.”

“And I almost died,” Shiro continues their storytelling with a dry laugh, interrupting Pidge and Lance’s plotting. He doesn’t elaborate any further, but Lance understands the gist of it.

“What’s new,” both Lance and Keith comment at the same time, side eyeing each other with giant smirks.

“Jinks,” Lance responds first with a slight smirk, watching as Keith barely has time to open his mouth. “You owe me a soda.” _You owe me a kiss later_ , his gaze portrays instead.

Keith’s rolls his eyes. “Of course, Lance, I’ll get right on that. We’ll just make a quick pitstop to find some.”

“Good, I’ll be waiting.” Lance lays down on the cold floor, allowing the slight chill to drift through his body. Ever since that _time_ with the Galra, he’s felt incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin; it’s as if his body is overheating, hot spells flowing off his skin in suffocating waves.

Lance knows he must be imagining it, as Keith has never remarked on Lance suddenly being a few degrees warmer. But in truth, they haven’t really been around each other much, at least enough for Keith to have noticed such a drastic change. It worries Lance slightly that he might be going a little bit insane.

“Your guys’s adventures were so amazing! But I think Hunk’s takes the cake; nothing can beat mermaids,” Lance sums up. He looks to Keith for his input, but his lover watches the ground, his lips twitching into something that resembles a smile.

“I’ll have to introduce you some time,” Hunk says. A wink is sent his way that Lance ignores. He once had a dream about dating a mermaid one day--which was stupid because back then he didn’t even know if they existed; his young heart had still hoped though--but now he’s dating a space cat and that’s a hundred times better.

“I’m holding you to that.” He points in his best friend’s direction with his trade mark grin.

“Oh, come on,” Pidge speaks up, her patience coming to an end, “Our adventurers must seem like crap to yours. You two were missing for two months. No one could get ahold of your lions’ signals, and trust me, I tried every way possible.”

Dead silence descends upon the group, and Lance and Keith shift nervously on the floor. Lance stares at Keith, passing wordless messages to his boyfriend, wondering who should speak first and how much of the truth they should divulge. As expected though, Lance is the first to talk, after receiving a confirmation nod from Keith.

Everyone leans in with baited breath.

“Haha, yeah we had some crazy times.”

Keith taps a hand on his chin. “Um, let’s see, we crashed on a planet called Tazer, and uh yeah that was interesting. My--uh, the locals were really nice.”

“I don’t remember that planet 10,000 years ago,” Allura muses mostly to herself and Coran.

Pidge sputters, mouth forming a disappointed frown. “That’s it? You vacationed on a planet for two months? Bullshit, both of you were injured when you came home.”

Lance winches, rubbing the back of his neck. He was so excited at the beginning of this ‘story time’ but now a sense of dread and the agony of memories wanting to be forgotten weigh heavily down on his shoulders. His gaze lands on everyone in the audience, memorizing every little detail about them. “We might have run into the Galra on our way back here. But nothing excited happened at all. It was a pretty boring trip.”

“Probably the most exciting thing was arguing with this idiot,” Keith confirms easier than his previous fib. When lying starts to become second nature, it’s never a good thing.

“Uh huh,” Shiro responds in a disbelieving tone, directing his gaze to Keith specifically. Once again, Lance’s boyfriend finds the floor to be very interesting, avoiding Shiro’s gaze and tracing invisible lines on the ground. “What happened to your armor?”

“We uh… we uh lost it?” Honestly, does Lance even remember? It’s somewhere back on Tazer crumbling to dust, destroyed and best left forgotten.

They can get new uniforms right?

“Teenagers,” Shiro mutters.  
  


 

A cold stream of water rushes down Lance’s body, cutting through the thick layer of dirt and grime that wound its way onto every part of his body. His fingers harshly dig into his scalp as he scrubs his hair with more vigor than he ever has before. The normal smell of his shampoo--coconut--and the familiarity of his bathroom finally send Lance the message that he is truly home and safe.

Now if only he can rid himself of a few memories as easily as he washes away the week old dirt.  

He lays his head against the shower tile, welcoming the torrent of droplets pounding his back. If Lance is being honest, as he usually is in shower conversations with himself, it’s very overwhelming being back among so many people.

He misses Keith and the little touches and gazes and everything that came with having a boyfriend publicly. Right now, he begins to regret wanting to keep their relationship a secret, but he also knows it’s for the best and drops the matter from his mind.

Sighing into the gush of water, Lance laughs as it patters against his face, little streams racing from his hair down to his skin. Everyone is a little too loud and a little too inquisitive, but Lance knows that will dull over time. He just has to find his normal routine again, if he even remembers what that is anymore.

Overall though, it feels great to be back and Lance wouldn’t change this for the world.  

At one point he finds his way to his bed, plopping himself onto the clean sheets and sinking into the mattress. He buries his nose into his pillow, re-familiarizing himself with his bed and the body dents in the mattress that have almost disappeared in his absence. He will just have to recreate them.

It’s an hour later when Lance finally realizes he won’t be sleeping tonight--and maybe this is because every time he closes his eyes he sees visions he doesn’t want to witness or maybe it’s because the unfamiliar sounds of the Castle keep forcing him out of R.E.M. Either way, the sheets are now a tangled mess, dangling dangerously off the bed. A by-product of his incessant tossing and turning. His legs buzz with untapped energy even though his mind and the bags underneath his eyes urge him to sleep. With a large groan, Lance chucks his pillow at the closest wall.

When it lands with a thump on the ground, quite far away from an easy reach, he decides he needs to do something about this, not wanting to suffer a sleepless night.

The hallway is dark when Lance’s door opens with a swift click, his pillow now tucked tightly under his arm. Little lights line the walls though, allowing Lance to see in front of him. Bare feet slide across the smooth floor as he tiptoes over to the room right next to his. There are no floorboards that can possibly creak, but he's as quiet as the space mice.

Not bothering to knock, he opens the door with a swoosh and is met once again with darkness. This time it’s welcoming though as he spots a lump in the bed.

Keith is curled into his blankets, barely visible. Lance crawls over and the mattress dips further under his extra weight. Reaching his hand out, his fingers gently brush over Keith’s back, pulling out a faint mumble from the sleeping boy. Lance presses a soft kiss to Keith’s forehead as he inches forward.

“Is it alright if I sleep here tonight?”

Rolling over, Keith blinks up at him, a sleepy smile on his face. If Lance had been more awake, he might have noticed how in the darkness Keith’s eyes glow with a faint shade of yellow, but he’s here, half asleep, so he pays it no attention. Keith drags him so close that Lance is practically laying on top of his lover. He immediately curls his arms around Keith’s waist, acting as the big spoon with an even larger grin on his face.

“Please stay as long as you like,” Keith says, his voice heavy with sleep, but Lance is already gone, slipping into some wonderful dreamlike realm.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really too happy with this chapter but I hope you enjoy it:)
> 
> S3 is one week away but you probably won't see me until the week after, so hope all of your S3 dreams and predictions come true!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	25. Chapter 25

It’s a few days after their grand reunion when Lance decides it’s time.

If one is keeping track, it takes him five minutes of subpar searching before he gives up and goes to find the Princess. She’s alone on the bridge, searching through an unfamiliar star chart, and the blue dots making up the stars and planets dance across her face. A pleasant frown toys with her lips, and she continues to curl a lock of her long, silvery white hair around her finger.

Lance stands beside her for a few seconds in silence, watching the real stars outside the Castle’s viewing screens. Absentmindedly, he begins to wonder which one of the millions of white dots is Tazer and which star is closest to Zarkon’s fleet of ships.

“Oh Lance,” she gasps, placing her hand on her chest. “You gave me a bit of a fright. Is there something you wanted?”

The map she had been studying snaps off, bathing them in the Castle’s white light with a tint of baby blue from the crystal high above them. Lance bites his bottom lip, nibbling at the chapped skin and fidgeting with the jacket of his sleeve, which he had missed wearing. It’s a little tight across the shoulders now, and it no longer drapes over Lance’s body comfortably. Even if this is true, the jacket still gives him some sense of familiarity that he has been desperately trying to find since locating the Castle again.

“Allura, are there any scissors in this Castle or an electric trimmer?”

The Princess cocks her head, her purple earrings waving to and fro with her movements. They are easier to watch than her eyes. “There are probably some somewhere. Why do you need them?”

Allura’s blue eyes peer into him, as if reading every secret that floats aimlessly in the front of his mind. Like how everyday at five in the morning Lance has to reluctantly pull himself away from Keith’s warm body to wander back to his own bed, just in case someone--Hunk--decides to barge into Lance’s room. It’s a necessary safety precaution of course. He doesn’t want to explain why he wasn’t there and he also doesn’t want anyone believing that he disappeared again, causing widespread panic.

Unfortunately though, it’s getting harder and harder to drag himself out of bed, and Keith’s grip is becoming tighter and tighter, knowing Lance doesn’t actually want to leave.

He wonders how long Allura is willing to wait before she asks him point blank what they had gone through. Even now, Lance can see the curiosity eating away at her pretty features and strong gaze--it’s eating away at everyone in this Castle. Every time Keith and Lance witness this, the more they want to sink into themselves and hide with only each other for company.

Lance frustratingly pulls on a long lock of his hair, scowling. “I want a change.” _Because you haven’t felt like yourself since you got back, admit it,_ his mind argues. He tries to dismiss his own thoughts, but he knows they are right.

Allura seems surprised by this, her eyes widening a fraction. Nodding in an understanding manor, a small smile plays at her lips as she walks closer. “Would you like some help?” she asks gently, brushing a hand through his hair as if trying to mentally figure out a new style that will look good on him. “I used to cut my father’s hair all the time; I mean, I’m probably not the best but--”

“Yeah, thanks Allura, I’d love that.”

For the first time since finding home and in the presence of someone not named Keith, his smile is genuine.

* * *

Keith walks a full foot and a half past Lance before he stops and turns to face his boyfriend. There’s a small, bashful smile twitching on Lance’s face as he slowly slides his foot across the floor, nervous. Even if Lance is radiating anxiousness, his eyes are piercing and never leave Keith’s face for a second. He’s waiting for a reaction, and once Keith finds his ability to speak, he delivers one.

“What happened to your hair?” Keith asks, breathless.

“I... I uhhh cut it? Well Allura did it actually. I told you I didn’t want a mullet.”

Keith steps closer, his hand jutting out to rub the buzzed portion of Lance’s new undercut. His bangs are still long though, brushing above his eyes and slightly hiding his eyebrows from view. His hair is soft, so mesmerizingly soft. The new style accents Lance’s sharp jawline and his otherwise older appearance. “It looks great; you look great. As always,” Keith replies with complete honesty.

As he continues to card his hand through his lover’s new hair, Lance leans into his body, wrapping his lanky arms around Keith’s waist. His lips lightly apply pressure on Keith’s cheek as he whispers “Thank you.” The words are absorbed more into Keith’s skin than into his ears. The vibrations are still the same though, and Keith draws Lance further into him, holding on as tight as he can.

The hallway is deserted but he doesn’t know how long that will last. He appreciates every second.  

“Paladins,” Allura announces over the loudspeaker, “Report to the bridge. Now!”

With one look passing between them, they race through the hallway, every terrible scenario weaving its way to the forefront of their minds. Keith’s fingers gently brush across Lance’s arm as their feet pound the ground in sync. Worry bubbles up inside him until it is all washed away when they finally make it to the bridge.

Instead of the fleet of Galra ships they were expecting, Keith, utterly confused, searches the bridge until he spots Allura with a giant grin on her face, exclaiming “I think it’s time to resume training again!”

He should have expected this.

A collective groan echoes on the bridge, and Lance just chuckles silently, a sound only Keith can hear.

“Jesus, Princess,” Keith scowls, crossing his arms over his chest, “I thought we were under attack.”

“Yeah,” “me too,” and “ditto” are the collective responses from the rest of the Paladins. Shiro is the only one unphased, and Keith has a sneaking suspicion he was in on Allura’s plan from the very beginning.

“Cheer up, Paladins,” Coran says, “It will be good to see how you have all grown as fighters and as a group after your long absence away from each other.”

 _Yay, team building,_ Keith’s mind halfheartedly musters. _Just what he needed._

“Yeah this is great and everything,” Lance begins, “but Keith and I don’t have armor.” He lazily gestures to everyone else who is suited up from the false emergency.

“Don’t worry about that, Lance, the Castle has already prepared two new sets of armor. They should be in the changing rooms by now.”

“ _Great_ ,” Lance replies, quietly walking away to get change, and after a few seconds and once he’s through the door, Keith slowly follows him.    

He thickly swallows when he sees the sight before him. Yes, mainly it’s because Lance is now shirtless and is slowly sliding down his pants to put on the tight, black bodysuit, but Keith’s eyes also catch onto the Red Paladin armor hanging behind Lance’s almost naked body.

It has never looked more empty. The armor mocks him, taunting him, telling him he can’t possibly fill a Paladin’s role now. He’s tainted and marked by the very evil that they are trying to destroy. _A son of Zarkon shouldn’t be allowed to pilot a lion._ Keith has to shake his head to dispel everything from his mind, but it does little good. They quickly take root again; Keith decides it’s useless to try and destroy the thoughts.

As he hesitantly picks up the red and white armor, out of the corner of his eye he catches Lance staring at him with a light batch of tears shining in his eyes. He’s only dressed in the black body suit and the other pieces of his Paladin armor are stern around his feet. Immediately, Keith drops his chest plate, rushing over and cupping Lance’s cheeks. His thumbs begin to catch loose tears cascading down his skin.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you still hurt? Do you need the healing pod again,” Keith’s voice breaks a few times.

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just, I don’t know, it’s stupid,” Lance mutters, closing his eyes and ducking his head.

“Whatever you have to say, it is _not_ stupid. But if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

Silence surrounds them as Lance’s body tightens in anticipation as he gathers up enough courage to allow the words to spill from his lips. “I--I don’t feel like I’m a Paladin anymore. I don’t deserve to wear this suit of armor. I’ve done terrible things.”

“You haven’t done terrible things, Lance, at least nothing worse than what I have done. You’re stronger now, and you deserve to be the Blue Paladin.” Keith gently shoves Lance’s new helmet into his arms.

As Lance weakly grabs his helmet, cradling it in his arms, it finally dawns on Keith that maybe, just maybe something happened to Lance that he doesn’t know about. Something his lover won’t even think about telling. The sudden realization grabs hold of him.

It scares Keith.

Lance stares at him, as if wanting to divulge whatever has been eating away at his mind, but he simply sighs, his fingers brushing over the top of the helmet. “Thanks, Keith. And since I know you better than you probably realize--” suddenly two bright blue eyes is all he can see “--you were always meant to be a Paladin. Galra or not. You were always meant to fly a lion.”

“So were you.”

  


“Go on, Keith, why won’t you pick up your bayard?” Allura asks, puzzled.

It sits on a tray before him, having been taken away before he went into the pod. Lance has already grabbed his with a bit of extra--fake--excitement that wasn’t necessary; his sits in his hands as the familiar form it was always meant to be.

Keith licks his dry lips. “R-right.” His hands hesitantly extend to grip his bayard, and he holds a breath, his chest tightening in anticipation. Everything that has been building up inside him since the day began, from the fear of a Galra attack to Lance’s confession of not feeling like Paladin to his own similar thoughts that pound at his head to even this minor worry and stress over his harmless bayard, he can feel the beginnings of a transformation.

Palms sticky with sweat, he hopes he will be able to quell it in time. Luckily for him though, Lance’s eyes seem to ground him.

Immediately after, Keith realizes that there is no issue, as every ounce of worry drains from him when he holds his familiar sword in his hand. The one everybody is used to. At this point in time, he doesn’t want to explain a glowing purple dual-blade sword. He can feel Lance watching him, hanging back in the group but ready to spring forward if needed.

“I say we let Lance and Keith go first,” Pidge speaks, a wild glint in her amber eyes. “I want to see if they’ve improved or gone soft since their little vacation.”

“I second that,” Hunk and Shiro respond, glancing at their respective friends with a slight smirk.

“Then it’s settled,” Allura finishes, confirming the arrangement before they can protest if they even wanted to, “I’m dying to see this myself after all.”

Coran already taps away on the screen. “Okay, I’ll set you two up with level thre--”

“No,” Lance pipes up his eyes sliding to the side as he catches Keith in his gaze. He nods in agreement. “Throw everything you got at us.”

“Are you certain?” Coran asks, his finger hesitantly hovering over the control pad and an eyebrow drifting farther and farther up his forehead in mild concern.

It’s Keith who speaks next. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Lance’s eyes are harsher and barely any laughter or jokes can be found on his lips, waiting to be spilled. Keith, on the other hand, is relatively the same... well maybe he’s a little more withdrawn and a little more skittish around them than usual. Not for the first time does Pidge wonder what happened to those two.

The battle or training sequence or massacrer of gladiator bots starts like this: Keith heads in first as usual, having the close range weapon of the two. He slices down two bots in an instance, sliding to the ground to avoid the swinging staff of another and cutting off its legs. Keith hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Lance stands a few feet behind Keith, effortlessly sniping at every bot that has managed to avoid Keith’s sword--there aren’t many--and every bot that drops from the ceiling. They fall in a steaming metal heap before they even had a chance to touch the ground. Lance manages to take out one before it seizes the opportunity to wack Keith across the back, and the Red Paladin turns around with a thank you in the form of a smile on his face.

Pidge blinks and they’re now back to back, as the bots stream endlessly out of the ceiling and begin to overwhelm the two in numbers.

“I think that’s enough,” Shiro begins to tell Coran, but Pidge lays a hand on his arm.

“No, let them say when they’re finished.”

“Yeah,” Hunk backs her up, hypnotized by the skilled pair, “I haven’t seen anything as amazing as this in a long time.”

At one point, to the amazement of everyone watching the spectacle from above, Lance’s bayard forms into two pistols, and he begins hitting the gladiators running in on both of their sides. Eyes widen and whispers are flung across the room. Allura wears a proud smile. Keith angles his head towards Lance, and Pidge watches his lips move, finally realizing Keith and Lance have probably been having a conversation this entire battle.

Those two idiots.

“Has Lance told you anything, Hunk?” Shiro asks, gazing away from the fight for a moment.

Sadly, Hunk shakes his head. “He--he hasn’t told me anything; we haven’t really spoken at all one on one since he’s been back. I think, even if he doesn’t know it himself, he’s found a new best friend.” He gestures with a nod of his head in Keith’s direction.

Lance’s bayard has switched back to its original form, so Pidge moves her gaze in the direction of the Red Paladin. It intrigues her that Keith hasn’t shown off his bayard’s new form too, because if her calculations are correct, since Lance was able to unlock a new form for his bayard that probably means Keith was able to do so as well.

The two continue to clear a pathway from the mini circle of protection they created for themselves. The bots have stopped dropping from the ceiling, and finally, as it seems like it has been centuries since the training exercise began, Lance and Keith show signs of fatigue. Even from up here, Pidge can easily see how heavy they are breathing and the sweat lacing their brows.

Pidge lays a gentle hand on Hunk’s back. “I’m sure everything will go back to the way it was. They just have to get used to the fact that they’re not alone and that they’re not lost anymore.”

“Whatever they’ve been through has Keith avoiding me like a plague whenever we’re by ourselves.” Shiro shrugs helplessly. “It’s like he thinks that I’m going to force him to tell me what happened to them, which I’m not. Though I am curious.”

Pidge has had a similar experience with Lance.

“Level ten complete,” voices the computer as the last bot falls, sporting two holes in its chest, one from a blaster and the other from a sword.

Lance and Keith turn towards each other; their gleeful expressions are mirrored in each others eyes. Keith proceeds to step forward, only to halt and his eyes hesitantly and quickly flicker up to the room where they all watch and back to Lance. His lips seem to be saying the words ‘I almost forgot’ with Lance’s reply of ‘me too,’ and the two Paladins awkwardly fist bump instead, a large gap separating their bodies.  

Pidge leans closer to the window, studying the two with a frown on her face. “They fucked,” she says casually, “How else could they be so connected right now?”

Everyone faces her, mouths fluttering in search of a response as they all send her various levels of confused expressions. Shiro’s eye noticeably twitches as he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“There are other types of, uh, bonding that can explain why they’re working so well together now,” Hunk adds in his own thoughts. They all glance at the two in question down below, but they’ve disappeared, most likely coming up to find them.

Pidge doesn’t let it worry her.

“Please, we’re talking about _Keith and Lance_ here. Have you seen them _truly_ arguing since they got back?”

“Nooo,” Hunk draws out, scratching the back of his head. “But that doesn’t mean they’re dating.”

“I said ‘had sex’ not that they’re dating, but now that you mention it…” Pidge trails off as a new idea is placed in her brain. “Anyways, something big happened to them, and my best hypothesis is that one of those morons finally admitted their feelings for each other.”

“Pidge, they’re both grown adults so obviously they can do whatever they want, but in all honesty, they probably just figured out how to work together as a team, the _normal_ way,” Shiro replies, almost apologetically. “And Keith’s never mentioned anything about any crush to me.”

 _Come on, Shiro,_ Pidge mentally reminds him, _not only is Keith one of the most oblivious people in this universe, he’s also one of the most private. He probably didn’t even realize his crush on Lance until they were alone together._

“Uh huh,” she says out loud, “Either way, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. There’s a lot more to their story that we all need to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for Lance’s new hair (and also how Keith’s hair basically looks now too): http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/159097828012/i-wanted-to-draw-alternate-versions-older
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm really happy with how this one turned out. 
> 
> So I know it's been a week since s3 came out, but wow, wow, wow I am still shook. It was so fucking good, and all those Klance moments made me cry with happiness.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I completely missed the one year anniversary of this fic back on 8/5. Thank you all for sticking with this story for a year!!! And to all new readers, welcome!

As he lays on his bed, Lance recalls the conversation he had with Allura as she placed the electric trimmer at the edge of his hair. Soft tufts had begun to fall onto his shoulder and tumble to the floor.

“Allura, can I ask you something?” He had tried not to fidget as she moved the trimmer further up the back of his head.

“Of course, Lance.”

His mind filtered through a million variations of how he could phrase this question, but he decided to proceed with most blunt version as possible. “Have you ever heard of the lions granting the original Paladins special powers?”

If Allura was shocked, Lance couldn’t see it, staring straight ahead and trying to remain motionless--he had imagined that she was though. How could someone not be? There was a lull for a few seconds before she decided to answer. “I remember my father telling me how the Red Lion once gifted him with the power of fire when he was trapped by Zarkon in one of the last battles he ever. That was before he sent the lions away.”

 _Gifted, what a strange word choice._ Lance would not have called his power a ‘gift.’ “Do you know what Blue’s is and if this power is a constant thing or not?” he continued, soothed by the vibrations from the trimmer.

“You’re very curious all of sudden,” she answered teasingly.

“I was just wondering,” Lance replied honestly, “There’s so much about the lions that we don’t know about yet.”

Setting down the trimmer, Allura began brushing off the short brown hairs that littered the towel draped over his shoulders. He ducked his head slightly, waiting for her response.

“I guess that’s true. From what I remember from my father, it’s possibly a one shot type of deal that is granted to a Paladin in their greatest moment of distress. I do not know the specifics of each power, but I’m sure Blue’s would have to do with water.”

Allura started to snip away at the locks she left alone, walking in front of him to take care of his bangs. As Lance closed his eyes, he missed her worried, curious gaze. She carded a hand through his hair, checking for any last minute uneven strands.

When he had opened his eyes, he found her peering directly at him. “You look very handsome, Lance. I hope this helps you feel more like yourself. You’re home now and safe. Always remember that.”

A knock on his bedroom door revives him from his memories, and he swings his legs off his bed to answer. Expecting it to be Keith, a wide grin spreads on his face, only for it to fall slightly when Hunk stands in the open doorway and not his boyfriend.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Lance shuffles his feet back and forth, hands clasped behind his back as he stares at the floor and not at his best friend. The tile cracks are very intriguing. Hunk clears his throat before speaking, wincing at the awkward silence that envelops the two. It had never been there before.

“Uh, come in, I guess.” Lance gestures to his room and Hunk immediately steps in.

Lance doesn’t miss Hunk’s eyes narrowing on the bed that’s a little too neat and tidy for someone who should have been sleeping in it every night--as his roommate at the Garrison, Hunk should know all about Lance’s habits and a completely made bed was never one of them. Luckily though, Hunk does not comment, and Lance selectively chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow sent in his direction.

A loud sigh echoes in the room. Hunk stares at Lance, daring him to look away as he breathes deeply before beginning his speech. Not knowing what to expect, Lance itches with anxiety.

“You don’t have to tell me. But whatever you’ve been through, whatever horrible thing you’ve think you’ve done--don’t give me that look. You forget I know you better than I know myself--I won’t think any differently about you. You’re still my Lance and I still love you. And I’m sure whenever you decide to reveal what happened, the team won’t see you any differently either.”

Tears well up in his eyes as Hunk gives him the approval he hadn't known he was desperately hoping for. It doesn’t dispel all his worries and thoughts of being a monster, but it helps. It helps. Lance latches onto his best friend, wrapping his arms around Hunk’s large body and squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Lance.”

* * *

“So do you think Pidge is on to us?” Lance asks, a holopad in his hands and his back resting comfortably on the sheets of his bed.

“Most definitely.” Keith lays down on the floor, hands under his head acting as a pillow. Quite content, he allows his eyes to drift closed, listening to Lance’s rhythmic breathing.

He hears the mattress shift, and when he pops his eyes open, Lance’s face is practically inches away from his as he hangs off the bed. Lance quickly corrects himself though, before all the blood rushes to his head and before Keith is able to place a kiss on his lips. What a tease. “Do you think she’ll come talk to us first or out us to the team?”

“Pidge respects boundaries. I’ll go with the first one.”

Keith catches Lance’s hand hanging off the bed in his own and begins to play with his fingers, marveling the smooth, uncalloused skin. “How do you think people will react?” Lance asks with sudden curiosity. Keith’s not sure if he’s talking about their relationship or that he’s part Galra.

He picks his first thought. “Probably something like ‘It’s about time, idiots.’”

“And why would you say that?” Lance asks again, amused, as he leans over the mattress to have a perfect view of Keith’s face. A tiny smirk curls onto his lips.

“Because it was _so_ obvious that you were pining for me.”

“Uhuh, you were the one who was pining for me.”

“I think this is where we have to agree to disagree.”

A wild smile fully consumes Lance’s face. His lips press a soft kiss onto the tip of Keith’s nose as he hums. “Sure, but I know the truth.”

“You’re insufferable,” Keith mumbles, gray violet eyes blinking innocently.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

A false, irritated pout shadows Keith’s expression. “I hate you.”

“Sure, babe,” Lance chuckles. “I’ll believe that.”

They stay together in comfortable silence. Keith returns to his previous task of trying to fall asleep on the hard floor, but his mind swirls with too many thoughts and scenarios. It’s been so difficult lately to fall asleep without Lance curled by his side. Luckily, they haven’t had to sleep alone yet. It would be nice though to wake up to Lance’s arms wrapped around him and not distantly hearing the door open at five in the morning, his body suddenly freezing.  

“Your hair’s a fucking mess,” Lance says from his position on the bed.

Keith’s eyes snap open once again and he jerks upwards to glare at Lance fully. His lover’s long legs are extended, his feet almost reaching the end of the bed. The hem of his shirt has rode up slightly, exposing the smooth skin and harsh angles of his abs--a part of Lance’s body that Keith had been running his hands over the night before.

Right now, he’s mesmerized. Too much so to be completely angry. A “What?” escapes his mouth first before he's able to comprehend Lance’s statement. He scowls, tugging on a long lock of his hair. “So? Why do you care; it’s my hair? I kinda like it at this length.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, more like, did you even _brush_ it this morning?” Lance cocks a smile and Keith playfully scowls, because he, in fact, did forgot to brush his hair. “Hmm, come here, but stay on the floor with your back facing me.”

Keith willing does as Lance commands, though he’s not sure why. When his back faces Lance, his eyes directed towards the door of his bathroom, Lance’s finger immediately card through his hair, combing through the tangles, until they can easily glide through. The rhythmic movements brushing against his scalp and running through his long hair lull Keith into a false dream-like-state.

Wondering what the team will think of him and his newly found parentage has encaptured his thoughts for a while now. The worry has intensified now that they’re back.

He can almost picture the exact way Allura and Coran will react, and it’s with disgust. He can’t blame them for that. Pidge and Hunk, he knows, will care less. They might crack a few jokes, but if that’s the price worth paying for acceptance, he’ll take it.

Shiro’s the mystery though. They’re close like brothers, but being part of the race of aliens that tortured Shiro for a year of his life, Keith’s not sure how he’ll react. The worst thing--even worse than outward disgust--will be fake acceptance. Keith’s not sure how he’d handle pretend, kind words accompanied with a betrayed expression in Shiro’s gray eyes.

He just prays that no one will find out.  

“Do you have a hair tie?” Lance asks, breaking Keith away from his thoughts. He fumbles with the band on his wrist. When their fingers touch as Lance reaches for the tie, a spark races through his body. He loves it when that happens. There’s a light tug near the base of his neck and within five seconds, Lance speaks again. “All done.”

Keith pads the back of his hair, feeling the small bumps the proceed all the way up to the top of his head. His bangs have been pulled away from his face and he can see clearly for once. “What’d you do?”

“I french braided your mullet. You look really freaking good, by the way. But then again, you’ve always been beautiful.” Unsurprisingly, he blushes at the complement, cheeks a dark red. Keith doesn’t move to find a mirror, trusting his boyfriend; instead he arches his head up, placing a quick kiss on his waiting lips.

“Thank you.”

“Hmm,” Lance sings, another signature smirk highlighting his blue eyes, “I think my services deserve a little more payment than that.”

“I completely agree.” Keith crawls onto the bed and into Lance’s waiting embrace.

 

 

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Pidge observes cheekily sometime later.

Lance is somewhere, probably with Blue, and Keith had roamed the halls until his stomach growled. Nothing like mid-afternoon activities to bring forth one’s appetite. He had hoped the kitchen would be vacant but he should have known that he is never that lucky. Pidge sits at the counter, stuffing food goo into her mouth as she types away on her laptop with one hand. Keith always knew she was talented, but this type of multitasking is impressive.

He walks over to the replicator, trying to decide if he wants food goo or food goo. It’s a very difficult choice.

“Shut it,” he finally grumbles.

“You’re really buddy-buddy with Lance now,” Pidge starts, her attention focused on what’s on her screen and not Keith himself.

Keith simply shrugs. “He’s the only person I saw for the past of couple of months. We were bound to become friends.”

Pidge quickly lifts her head, cocking it to the side as one eyebrow lifts higher above the wire frames of her glasses. “Oh, so that’s what they’re calling it nowadays.”

“Whatever little idea is floating through your head is wronf--” he stuffs a glob of food in his mouth. Balancing the plate on one hand and spoon shoved into his mouth, Keith proceeds to make his way to one of the kitchen stools far away from Pidge. They’re sitting on opposite sides now.

“The fact you even think I have an idea tells me I’m on the right track.”

“Sometimes it’s best to leave things alone if they’re not made public,” Keith reminds her with a pointed glare.

“It’s for my own personal amusement,” Pidge says, “I won’t tell any of the others if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her amber gaze softens and her small hand pats his. She has to practically extend her whole body across the counter to reach him though. It would comical if the gesture wasn’t so sweet. “Tell me, is the great Keith Kogane hiding any other secrets besides his _secret_ relationship with Lance?” Pidge laughs at her own question as if expecting nothing to come of it.    

“No,” Keith growls a little too harshly, standing immediately and pushing back his plate. As he rushes from the room, he barely catches Pidge’s calculated frown and realizes a little too late that he may have just caused more harm than good.

 

 

Keith tugs on his shirt after a grueling training session; a gladiator bot lies decapitated on the floor a few yards away from him. His shirt harshly grips his skin, his body sticky with sweat. It’s gross, and he can’t wait to take a shower--preferably with Lance--so he bends down to pick up his fallen bayard, preparing to leave. He rakes a few loose locks out of his face, all of Lance’s hard work coming undone after a few short hours. He’ll have to get him to redo it later.

“That scar looks painful,” Shiro comments, standing behind Keith, having silently walked into the training room without Keith’s knowledge.

He has two main ones now, one curling over his shoulder, courtesy of Zarkon, and the other on his back. It’s obvious which one Shiro’s eyes have been drawn too.

“It was. Lance had to cauterize the wound; it was the most agonizing thing I’ve ever felt. In the end, he saved my life.” He waits for Shiro to take the bait, but he doesn’t… yet. This causes Keith to frown, impatiently tapping his foot and wondering what will come of this conversation.

Probably pained hearts and exasperated expressions.

Instead, Shiro changes the subject, treading lightly. “That hairstyle suits you.”

Scowling, Keith tugs on a lock of his hair, sending a narrowly pointed glare while he complains. “Why is everyone commenting on my hair lately?”

“Because it’s different and we can finally see your eyes for once,” Shiro lists off easily. There’s a small smirk playing at his lips along with that sparkle in his eyes that Keith had forgotten all about. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to be so distant.

Both men stand a few feet apart, arms crossed over their chests and bodies tense as the conversation is layered with awkward bits of silence in between. Things used to be so much easier between the two. Keith knows Shiro’s sensing it as much as he is, and he just wishes it wasn’t his fault. But it is, and Keith can’t help that.

“Come on, my hair wasn’t that bad,” Keith says, “You’re starting to sound like Lance.”

“Maybe I am,” Shiro ends in a chuckle. Before he can let the silence linger too long, Shiro speaks again. This time his tone is clipped with no room for argument. A command. “Walk with me.”

Fighting the better part of his nature to rebel and just skedaddle out of there, Keith stays in the same position. He grumbles out a “Why?”

“We haven’t talked at all since we got back. Maybe I just want to catch up.” Shiro innocently shrugs his shoulders.

Keith knows this will be anything but innocent. Now it’s time for the barrage of questions that Keith is not ready for but knew were coming at some point. He prays Shiro will keep his inquires light and not delve into the darker aspects of their journey that Keith keeps locked inside of himself. Reluctantly obliging, he walks alongside Shiro in silence as they make their way to the lounge room. He immediately rushes to the couch upon entrance, taking pleasure in the fact that he is finally able to rest his body after a well needed workout.

“I know you were captured by the Galra,” Shiro cuts to the chase.

His body becomes stone as panic begins to seize him. “I don’t want to ta--”

“No, hear me out. I know what it’s like to be captured by them, but I found that it’s best to have someone to talk to.”

“Shiro,” Keith responds sadly, “Plea--”

“It might be vital if you know anything new about the Galra,” Shiro soldiers on with a knowing glance. “Do you know who captured you? Was it Zar--”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Keith snaps, “I don’t want to talk about the Galra, and I especially don’t want to talk about fucking Zarkon!”

Fury races inside his body, corrupting every main function his mind controls. It’s suddenly there again, the sick feeling of needles pricking his skin as his molecules revert to their original form. Keith hopes he can contain it, but as Shiro continues to talk, edging ever so closer to the truth, the pain intensifies.

“Keith, it’s not good to bottle up pain; it affects the whole team. You don’t want to put Voltron in danger. We fight Zarkon and the Galra for a living, and you need to be able to handle the possibility of seeing them again.”

“No, no,” Keith dangerously shakes his head, strands of hair whipping him in the face. “I don’t ever want to see that… thing again! I--I don’t want him to see me--”

His mouth clamps closed a little too late as his eyes fall from Shiro’s shocked expression. On his lap lie his hands, and as he peers closer, he catches pale patches of lavender skin peeking out from under his fingerless gloves. Immediately, he stuffs his hands under his legs, and biting at his lip, Keith begins to rock back and forth.

 _Oh god, Oh god, Oh god._  

 _Please not right now._  

“Whoa, calm down, Keith. You’re looking a little pale.”

There’s nothing worse than telling someone who’s on the verge of panic to ‘calm down.’ Keith thinks Shiro should know this, and once Keith regains his sane state of mind, he silently vows to teach their leader on how to deal with panic attacks--even if what Keith’s going through right now is unconventional.

The doors open behind them, but Keith barely acknowledges the person’s presence. They head over to a tucked away bookshelf, searching for a holopad, and ignore the two on the couch. All Keith catches is a flash of brown hair. Through the pain, Keith can’t recognize that this person is Lance, instead concentrating on his sweltering hands trapped under his thighs as he tries to quell the rest of his transformation. Spikes race up through his body, stabbing him in the gut and behind his eyes.

“Oh god, Shiro, stop talking,” Keith mumbles, his words heavy. “Can’t you tell I don’t want to--ah!” He nearly doubles over with an unexpected bout of nausea when a comforting embrace slides into him. He knows who it is immediately and it’s not Shiro.

Lance quickly guides him up from the couch, holding Keith’s hands in his so Shiro won’t see the purple blotches speckling his pale skin. Keith knows bits of purple now cover his neck and face; he can feel the fangs elongating in his mouth and claws cutting into his skin. But Lance already ushers him out of the door before this is made apparent to Shiro.

The Black Paladin stands, rushing forward. “Is Keith ill? We need to get him to a heal--”

“No,” Lance replies sharply. He holds up a hand to stop Shiro in his tracks while Keith huddles against the wall outside of the room, lost to the world. “I got this. Ju-just go away.”

Lance’s hands send a tiny, warm rush of comfort through Keith’s body as he is dragged to his room before Shiro can open his mouth to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m starting college for the first time next week, and I’m not sure how consistent my updates will be but I’m going to try my hardest. If all goes well, a new chapter will be posted in two weeks, if not... just assume college already killed me lol. But anyways, I love this story so much so I doubt updates will take long since I can write the chapters pretty quickly. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	27. Chapter 27

To say Shiro is shocked into silence is an understatement. He stands there, staring at the closed door, surrounded by the stagnant air of the empty room. Keith’s pain is engraved into his mind, replaying over and over again as Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, blocking the image though the action does little good. In fact, it enhances the memory. Shiro can’t win right now, and his brother’s pain washes over him.

Allowing the brief bit of tension to fall away from his body, he breathes deeply, opening his eyes again and concentrating on the door.

He knows he must follow those two; whatever is wrong with Keith needs to be dealt with fast or else they may not be able to form Voltron when the Galra or Zarkon himself arrives. This concerns the whole team, and for once Shiro can not respect their privacy.

Mind already made up--seriously, he knew the decision he had to make when he saw Lance pushing Keith out of the room--Shiro walks out the door and into the long hallway. It takes him a far shorter amount of time to reach Keith’s room than he would have liked, not providing the time to formulate a convincing yet commanding speech in his head.

Faint voices flutter underneath the door. Shiro can’t decipher what's being said, but the tone is one of worry and distress. He frowns in response.

Quietly knocking on Keith’s door, Shiro waits, the two muffled voices from behind increasing in volume. A harsh “don’t open it” can be clearly heard and he knows for certain those words came from Keith’s lips.  

Despite Keith’s warning, the door eventually slides open, no more than an inch though, and all Shiro can see is Lance’s eyes. They’re darker than usual, unsettlingly so. Shiro tries to gaze behind Lance, seeking some answers to his many questions, but the Blue Paladin’s body blocks any chance of seeing Keith.

This does nothing to ease his worry.  

“I came to apologize,” Shiro starts immediately.

Lance frowns, eyes narrowing slightly, and small wrinkles crease his forehead. “It’s not the best time right now.”

“Lance, if he’s injured, a healing pod is the only thing that can help him.” Shiro places a hand flat on the door. The sound of metal on metal echoes louder than he meant for it to, and Lance visibly recoils. Keith remains silent, wherever he is.

“No, nope I-- _we_ got this all under control.” Lance pauses, head turning slightly to look over his shoulder into Keith’s room. His head snaps back again, blue eyes filled with a bit of understanding. “You can apologize to him… uh later. I think he’d appreciate that.”

“Lance--”

The door is effectively slammed in Shiro’s face for the second time in one hour, and reluctantly, he walks to the bridge in search of Allura with more questions on his mind than before.

* * *

When Shiro is once again out of sight and mind, Lance steps away from the door, a deep sigh of relief tumbling from his lips. Keith is curled by the side of his bed, head tucked into his arms to conceal his face though it does little to cover his large ears poking out from each side of his head. His skin has completely transformed into the purple of the Galra, and Lance knows that when Keith lifts his head, two golden eyes will be staring back.

A soft smile graces Lance’s features as he slowly walks back to Keith’s side. He gently ruffles Keith’s hair, carding through the thick locks and completely undoing the already crumbling braid. As Lance hoped, Keith responds to his touch, his head nudging Lance’s hand though he doesn’t make an effort to lift his head.  

“Now you really are my space cat,” Lance teases quietly. His hands glide over Keith’s soft ears, marvelling how they twitch slightly at each touch, flicking at his fingers softly.

“Shut up, Lance, this isn’t funny,” Keith mumbles into his arms.

Immediately, Lance retracts his hand only to hear a small, selfish whine emanate from Keith. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, dragging Keith into his arms and cradling him.

Oh how the tables have turned.

Keith shakes his head, slowly untangling and allowing himself to melt in Lance’s arms. He sighs, leaning his head back to rest against Lance’s chest. “No, no it’s okay. I like it when you try to lighten the mood. I just can’t believe I almost revealed myself to Shiro.”

Lance gazes at his boyfriend, absorbing his large ears and yellow eyes and purple skin and sharp teeth and claws. His arms wrap tighter around Keith, and he places feather-like kisses along his skin, trailing up until he reaches Keith’s lips.  

“I thought I had it under control,” Keith practically weeps. He buries his head into Lance’s neck, his lips fluttering against Lance’s warmth skin as he breathes in.

“I know, baby, I know.” Once again, Lance soothingly runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, catching on a few tangles in the process. “This just means you gotta work on your control. It’s not a big deal; we can work on it together.”

“Really?”

Keith needs to be completely calm for his transformation to recede, if Lance remembers correctly. He’s already formulating an idea in his head; he knows it may not work but it’s worth a shot. “Really. I was thinking of meditation to help calm your mind.” Keith’s hair tickles his nose as his lips brush against Keith’s ear.

Purring, Keith bares his neck, inviting Lance’s lips to his skin again. “I honestly feel calmer when I’m punching things, so I don’t think this will work,” he mumbles.

Lance chuckles, lips peppering kisses up and down his neck. Keith must have been feeling very touch starved tonight, Lance muses, or he just needs someone concrete to be with him now. The thought of Keith’s panicked face as blotches of violet began to appear on his body has Lance pulling away and vowing to help Keith control this. “Hush up, and just try.”

He scoots further away until both of them are inches apart. Lance sits criss-cross applesauce and stares at Keith until he does the same. “Now do as I say.”

“You’re really bossy today,” Keith smirks, head cocked to the side and yellow eyes bright.

Lance playfully grunts. “Close your eyes and breathe with me.”

It takes a few seconds for those vibrant eyes to disappear behind purple eyelids and Lance soon follows suit, his breathing matched to his steady heartbeat.

When Lance senses Keith has reluctantly followed his lead after a few minutes, he cracks one eye open, watching the faint rise and fall of the Galra’s chest before him. The tightness in Keith’s features is still present, his muscles harshly coiled up and his posture rigid. Lance silently sighs, opening both eyes to fully gaze at Keith.

In all honestly, he knew meditation wouldn’t work; that’s not who Keith is and that’s not how he relaxes. But unfortunately, he can’t go to the training room in the state he’s in right now, just as a precaution in case someone walks in. Lance frowns, drumming his hands on his chin. What could possibly work?     

There had been one night not too long ago where Keith had shared a part of himself, of his family that he had just discovered. So Lance begins to sing a familiar tune, his voice a sweet melody, soft and warm.   

_I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love_

_I'd a pluck a red rose blowin'_

_Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove_

_What your heart's knowin'_

The change is immediate. First, a small, reminiscing smile winds its way onto Keith’s lips, and his shoulders drop all the weight they had been carrying. Motivated now, Lance continues on. His voice rises higher and higher in volume with every line.

_I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn_

_I'd a pluck a finger bleedin'_

_Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn_

_And your heart needin'_

Keith has crawled closer now, a hand resting on Lance’s thigh and body molding to his side. His nails are little less sharp and a little more human looking, and his skin, though still holding a tint of lavender, is less bold in color.

_I'd a hold a finger to my tongue_

_I'd a hold a finger waitin'_

_My heart is sore, until it joins in song_

_With your heart matin'_

As Lance finishes the lullaby, Keith’s ears have shrunk back to normal size and shape. His eyes have remained in their golden state and his skin is still purple in the right light. But Lance takes this as a win, even if his mission hadn’t been fully accomplished.

“Let’s go to bed. Maybe you can sleep the rest off,” Lance suggests quietly. Even before Keith answers, he’s dragging him to the rumpled sheets and soft mattress. Lance allows Keith to crawl in first as he always prefers to be near the wall than the edge of the bed.     

“You’ll stay with me?” Keith quietly pleads, though he doesn’t have to.

Lance is already drawing back the blankets. “Of course.”

They fall asleep in an instant, curled around each other.

Unfortunately though, that’s when the dreams start.

At first Lance is sitting in his house at the kitchen table. Picture frames and old photo albums are strewn all around him. A woman--his mother, though she’s shrouded in a dark light and he’s unable to properly see her face--sits across from him, weeping. A box of tissues, practically empty, lies within her reach.

“Mamá, I’m home,” Lance hears himself say.

But his mother doesn’t answer; she hasn’t even acknowledged his presence, her eyes dark and rimmed with redness as she stares right through him.

Only then, as the dream begins to shift into something far more unpleasant, does he realize all the tear stained photos are of him.     

Now, he stands in a long hallway, silvery light flickering all around him, and the walls bleed darkness as it trickles down to the floor and pools near his boots. His bayard is formed into its normal blaster, and his other friends’ voices are a garble in his helmet as they scream for help that will never come. All Lance can do now is hold off the Galra that keep coming and coming and coming. Each hit is a perfect headshot and the bodies begin to pile up in front of him. Suddenly he’s not shooting at them but pulling at their bodies and the water inside of them. The glowing blue of his eyes pierce the darkness.

His hands are spotless this time though.

Even in the dream, the air is thick with defecation and urine.

There’s one last Galra left; he’s smaller than his brethren and charges slower than the rest, as if reluctant to fight the Blue Paladin. For a strange reason, Lance lowers his gun that he had regained hold of, shooting the last Galra in the chest, close to the heart and still aimed perfectly to kill. The Galra soldier is too close to Lance though, and instead of falling in a lifeless heap to the ground, he tips forward into Lance’s waiting arms.

Through this ordeal of falling and catching, the Galra’s helmet has tumbled off, revealing dull yellow eyes, lavender skin, and thick black hair. Lance screams in realization, tugging Keith closer to his chest and wiping away that bit of blood smeared on his lips.  

“No, no, no please don’t die. Please! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know; I didn’t know.” A few large, round tears splash onto Keith’s pasty skin. Is he actually speaking? He can barely hear himself over the roar of his heart.

Painfully, Keith lifts his hand to caress Lance’s cheek, leaving behind a bloody handprint as his arm falls back to his side, limp and numb. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

The bedroom is pitch dark when his eyes snap open. Cold sweat drenches his body, coating him in a sticky layer as his shirt clings to his chest. Hands grip his short hair, harshly tugging at his scalp. Lance’s breathing is erratic, chest pumping up and down as he tries to fill his depleted lungs with much needed air. Oblivious to Lance’s distress, Keith continues to sleep, curled up next to Lance’s warm body with one arm gingerly draped over his stomach.  

To ease his frazzled mind, Lance quietly trails his fingers over Keith’s face and hair and body. His boyfriend’s still alive. His heart beat can be easily felt as Lance places two fingers on the side of his neck. As the pulse soothes the rest of Lance’s nerves, he slides back under the covers, wrapping Keith tight in his embrace.

In the darkness, Lance can't tell if he looks human or Galra, but it doesn't matter.

A single tear slips down Lance’s cheeks but this is gone unnoticed as an alarm soon cuts through the quiet night.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have a lot of college work but I still managed to write this chapter:) I'm so happy it's finally the weekend. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	28. Chapter 28

A few hours before the Castel’s alarms ever ring out through the hallways, Pidge walks into the control room to find Shiro and Allura engaged in a deep conversation. The Castle bridge is layered with a thin sheen of blue, washing over their faces and drowning out the white lights. It’s difficult not to get distracted by the stars outside and all the tech she has yet to fiddle with.

Pidge readily slides up to them upon hearing the names of two certain Paladins--the ones who have been entangled with her daily thoughts since finding their way back to the castle. The two adults barely notice her until she speaks.

“Are we all in agreement that Keith and Lance are acting very strange? And I’m not talking about if they’re in a relationship or not but more, I guess you could say, because of a mental change.” The pads on her glasses pinch the sides of her nose as she blinks.

Acknowledgement flashes across their faces, but no one appears to be surprised. It seems that everyone has come to the same conclusion at last. At least now she won’t have to explain her research. It’s clearly obvious that Keith and Lance are acting strange. Even the mice can sense it.

Allura slowly nods. “Lance has been asking some detailed questions as of late. Some I barely even know the answer to.”

Shiro hums, as if deciding what to say next. “I guess I should fill you in too, Pidge. Allura knows this now, but Keith was in a lot of pain earlier and now they’re both in hiding. Lance wouldn’t even let me into Keith’s room.”

“Those two are idiots,” Pidge mumbles. “Do they not think that we can help them out? I mean, Jesus Christ, we’ve been with each other forever! Whatever they’re going through, we can at least try to lessen the burden.”

Pidge’s words vibrate across the empty air. There’s a silent agreement in their eyes.

“It’s becoming dangerous now,” Shiro continues the conversation. “Especially if what’s ailing Keith pops up at random times… What happens if he’s flying the Red Lion or we’ve formed Voltron? This needs to stop.”

The doors slide open with a swoosh and in walks Coran, holding a holopad underneath his arm, with Hunk trailing behind. They both stop upon seeing their mirroring grim expressions. Hunk winches at the sight.

“I’m guessing we’re talking about our two previously lost Paladins,” Coran says it not as a question but as an already proven statement. It’s not difficult to come to that conclusion these days.

“Yeah, do you have anything to add?” Pidge inquires.

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how she decides to see it--Coran nods. “The healing pod Keith was in had been picking up some strange readings. The pods are so old now, I do not know if it’s simply malfunctioning, or if Keith truly has different DNA from you other humans.”

“Different DNA? As in he’s an alien?” Pidge extends her hand for Coran’s holopad--who appears to be extremely reluctant to hand it over--when she feels a large hand gently land on her shoulder. She tilts her head up to find Hunk with a solemn expression. His voice is soft, quiet even though what he has to say is not meant to be a whisper.

“Pidge, I honestly think this is something they should tell us. I don’t think we should be snooping around in their privacy. I haven’t known Keith very long, but I do know Lance. And if he wants to hide something, it’s for a good reason.”

“I would usually agree with that,” Shiro intrudes, “But when it affects the whole team--”

“No, Shiro,” Hunk interrupts their leader for what must be the first time ever. “We have to respect them, or else the next time we all become separated, they may not feel the need to come back at all.”

* * *

Lance will never forget the look Keith gave him when they both jolted out of bed and ran to change into their Paladin armor. The minute Keith spied the dried tear tracks on his face, he halted in his steps, fingers reaching out to brush over Lance’s skin. But he pawed the touch away, mumbling how the alarm was more important.

By the way Keith’s eyes narrowed, he knew this conversation wasn’t over.

And a part of him, a small, almost invisible part, is glad of that. Maybe it’s time to speak his nightmares outloud. The larger part--the coward--hopes Keith forgets this ever happened.

To distract himself, he helps Keith zip up his body suite, watching the large, pale expanse of his back become swallowed up by the black material. His lover catches Lance’s eyes in the mirror and smirks, a faint pink mixing on his cheeks.  

Unfortunately, Keith still retains some minute traces of his Galra DNA on his skin. His eyes have the barest tint of yellow, and a few patches of purple skin remain. Most are able to be covered by the armor and the dark splotch on his cheek, right near his ear, can be easily masked by quickly messing with his long hair. That should be good for now. Keith seems to be stable.

Lance isn’t.

He feels more broken than ever.

They race to the bridge, their feet pounding on the floor in sync. It fills up all the space for words, and everything between them is left unspoken. The silence allows Lance’s dream to ingrain itself into his mind; for once, he is unable to forget it. He sucks in a sharp breath as the bridge doors whoosh open, and he desperately hopes that it had masked his whimper.

“No need to worry too much,” Allura states upon everyone’s arrival, “It’s not as if Zarkon’s right outside, but we have received a rather troubling distress signal.”

Both of the Paladins miss the way Coran stares at Keith before he talks, elaborating on Allura’s statement. “A species called the Brakathi are under attack from a small Galra fleet. Apparently, they’ve been under siege for three quintants now and can’t hold out much longer. Needless to say, they need our assistance as soon as possible.”

“We don’t need any more convincing than that. Let’s go, Paladins,” Shiro commands and they all head to their respective lions, no questions asked.

It’s a strange weirdness flying in Blue knowing the others are out there besides him. It’s weird flying in her again after everything that has happened. Their connection is stronger than before, and she often sends him soothing thoughts, acknowledging his night terrors. She doesn’t speak though. Lance can see the Red Lion from the left window, but even with that, he keeps a private com link open between the two of them. Keith’s breathing and Blue’s purrs comfort him as his hands tremble on the controls.

“Lance,” Keith finally speaks up. His eyes are completely clear now, his skin finally back to its usual paleness. “If anything’s troubling you, you can come to me about it. You look like shit right now, and I _want_ to help you.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance responds sarcastically, a dry chuckle on his lips. “That’s a great thing to say to your boyfriend.”

He growls. “This is serious. Whatever’s plaguing your dreams and thoughts needs to be stopped. It’s not healthy living with it.” His eyes soften at the end, his lips practically quivering with worry.

“Says the man who can’t even say or hear Zarkon’s name without panicking.”

Instantly, it becomes deathly quiet in his lion. Even Keith’s breathing has quieted while Lance’s heartbeat violently races, pounding harshly against his chest. Guilt sinks deep within him; an apology already rests on his tongue.

“I’m so sorry. I--I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea--arg, I always fuck things up. I--”

Tears well up in his eyes.

“Lance, it’s okay.”

He shakes his head inside his helmet. “No, I shouldn’t have said those things. I should’ve known better. I don’t deserve--”

“You’re tired, Lance, and when we’re tired, we say things we don’t mean. It’s alright. I just want to help you,” his words are clipped but true forgiveness shines in his violet-gray eyes. “And don’t ever say you don’t deserve something, you deserve the whole universe.”

For once, he allows himself to believe those words.

 

The Paladins have been lead down into a bunker, made of hard packed dirt and metal supports which, according to Pidge’s calculations, are lighter and stronger than any metal on Earth.

The Brakathi are blue skinned creatures, having a mix between four or six arms and thinly curled horns on some members of their species. They don’t seem to have genders, and though Lance knows this isn’t every Brakathi, he hasn’t seen any children or elders either. Most are wearing what seems to be tattered remains of a military uniform. Maps are spread out across a dusty tables, outlining towns and cities. One particularly large one, which could have been sitting next to an ocean--if that’s what the mass of blue represents--is crossed out with a large red X. Lance doesn’t want to dwell on what that means. 

One does step forward to speak, hands outstretched in some type of greeting; worry stains their rectangular eyes--the species has three, but one sits in the back of their heads.

“We are honored that you have come,” this one speaks in a pitched voice. “We have heard many tales of your heroism with the Galra. I’m called Lanva, and I have been chosen today to speak for my people.” Skin a smooth pastel blue clashes sharply with Lanva’s completely orange eyes. Their species doesn’t seem to have pupils either, and it’s difficult to know where they are looking.

“Lanva, it’s nice to meet you; my name’s Shiro,” he steps forward to speak, “We received your distress signal, and we are prepared to defeat the Galra fleet orbiting above, just tell us what we need to do. Voltron is at your command.”

The Brakathi gazes directly in his eyes. “We have been holding our own, even gaining some ground back, but then they sent down their magic users. We have no type of defense against sorcery. Our culture barely believes in that type of phenomenon. But now we’ve seen it, and it is a terrible power.”

Suddenly, Lance has trouble focusing on the conversation before him, eyes glazing over as talk of battle and strategy shrink back to make way for a wave of pure anxiety. His eyes flicker to the entrance they had come through. He wonders if he can escape. Would anyone notice?

 _Yes_ , his mind snaps back, an image of Keith popping in his mind along with everyone else on this team. He could never leave unnoticed.

Immediately, guilt paralyzes his mind. A Paladin doesn’t run away. A Paladin doesn’t show fear. He swallows hard. A hand lands of Lance’s shoulder and he meets Keith’s dark eyes as he glances back. The hand slides down from his shoulder until their fingers entwine. Keith gently squeezes Lance’s hand, as if sending the message that ‘it’s okay.’ That everything will be okay.

Lance sends a tentative smile back.  

They deal with the ground troops first, leaving the Castle to take care of the ships high above and the Brakathi’s strongest military airships to assist. Defending the main city, they strike at the Galra’s flank marching in from the west side. Most of the infinitary is made of sentries and low ranking Galra soldiers. Lance steels his mind, enough that he doesn’t even blink when his shots punch directly through their chests. It might not bother him now in the heat of battle, but his mind stores all of these images--of Galra soldiers falling down into a useless lump of limbs, fear on their faces--for his dreams.

Shiro whips around the battle, slicing through every soldier that stands to fight. The dead look in his eyes matches Lance’s own. Pidge and Hunk fly their lions above, providing the much needed air support and taking out most of the Galra army ahead of them. The Brakathi easily hold their own, wielding their weapons as if they had been born with them in their hands. Who knows, maybe they had.

A few Galra shrink away from Keith, hissing insults and taunts at him. “You don’t deserve the title of prince. You have no honor, no sense of loyalty,” Lance hears one of them growel.

Keith’s sword comes rushing down only to be met with a clang as the Galra raises his gun to block it. “I never asked for that title. I’m not your prince and I will defeat Zarkon, whether he’s my father or not.”

He slices at the Galra’s midsection, standing back as the soldier slumps to the grown. Wiping away a film of sweat on his brow, he finds Lance. But Lance has no time to return that soft smile, instead he lifts his blaster to snipe the Galra sneaking up on the unsuspecting Keith.

“I got you, babe.”

Keith’s response is drowned out, lips moving but he can’t decipher any words in the mess of sounds. Lance can barely hear anything anymore.

“Paladins,” Lanva unexpectedly cuts through the static, calling out to everyone, “Your idea has worked. They are here.”

When Lance turns to the direction of a familiar noise--cracking and splitting the air-- he comes face to face with a druid and his mind factures just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter this morning, so sorry if it seems a little rushed. I just really wanted to update today. 
> 
> Keith's vlog anyone? I cried so much
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	29. Chapter 29

Lance isn’t sure what he thought would happen. One moment he is frozen in fear, terror trickling at the corner of his mind, and the next, Shiro has tackled him to the ground, saving him from the bolt of magic directed towards him. In a flash, Lance spots Keith trying to slash at the Druid with his bayard, dancing with the monster as it continues to teleport away a few feet from where it last stood.  

Even with everyone protecting him--at some point, Hunk’s arm is draped across his shoulders as Shiro and Pidge join Keith when another Druid appears--Lance can’t quite function. His whole body shivers, mind plagued with the awful memories. It’s torture again, only the pain is ten times worse. He doesn’t want to be taken again; he doesn’t want to go back. Hands tremble at his side, nails cutting into his gloves. In the back of Lance’s mind, he hears a distant purr from Blue, recognizing his distress. 

There’s nothing she can do to help though. 

He remains frozen well after the Druids are defeated. He remains frozen well after the rest of the Galra army scatter back to their ships. Only now everyone surrounds him again, four sets of eyes trained on his face. The Brakathi are off to the side, tending to their wounded and dead--somehow he had been carried back to the base. Lance doesn’t remember any of it. He does recognize, with great exertion though, that his head lies in Keith’s lap and that gentle fingers thread through his hair, soothing his trembling mind. 

Distant voices swim around him, muffled by the fog.  

“What happened?” That sounds like Shiro, the dark blur in front of him. 

Keith chokes out a response, fingers never ceasing their lethargic movements. “H--he was tortured. We were captured and he was tortured. He never let on how bad it was. I wanted to help…”

“Well now we can all help. We can be there for him.”

Shiro’s words are surprisingly soothing as Hunk’s and Pidge’s choked up tears make Lance want to cry along with them. He does nothing though, and Lance finally succumbs to the peaceful darkness. There are no dreams that night; he simply floats in a never ending stream of blackness.

When he wakes, Lance jerks upwards, rubbing the bags underneath his eyes, and tries to recall what happened the day before. Lazily blinking to adapt to the white lights, Lance is met with the whole team, Keith’s hand already gripping his rather harshly, but Lance won’t complain. It makes him feel grounded. “H--hey guys, did we win?”

Visible tears well up in Keith’s eyes, and this only adds to the confusion, because clearly someone didn’t die since they’re all standing a little too close to him. “I’m sorry, Lance, I should’ve helped you more.”

The memories jarringly spring back into his mind because of this one little sentence. His hand tenses in Keith’s grip but his lover only holds on tighter. By everyone’s expressions, it seems like they all know now. Lance finally finds the will to cry. 

“‘s not your fault. I never told you,” he mutters as tear after tear rolls down his cheek.  

Pidge jumps onto the bed, her thin arms wrapping around his chest, squeezing tightly. Her body shakes as they cry together. “We love you, Lance. And we’re all here for you when you’re ready.” 

Suddenly, he’s encased in a group hug. He absorbs every ounce of contact, and he can tell that Keith adds an extra squeeze, burying his nose into Lance’s neck. Though their words are no more than empty promises--Lance knows that only he can help himself get better, and even then he knows he will never be one hundred percent again--they still fill him with a slight amount of hope he has been missing by internalizing everything. 

“T--Thanks, guys.”

He means it. 

* * *

A few days later, a feast is held in their honor, and throughout the whole dinner, Shiro throws cautious glances at the Red and Blue Paladins. Both Shiro and Keith had equally tried to persuade Lance to stay back in the Castle, for rest and rejuvenation--he knows first hand how much relaxation helps calm the shattered mind--but the boy had been stubborn, and Shiro was surprised to see Keith cave so easily. 

The two of them definitely grew up while they were away, lost, whatever they should call it, and Shiro’s not quite happy about that. Especially now having learned about Lance. The thought is distasteful in his mouth, knowing how much pain they’ve been dragged through. The two of them deserved to be teenagers for a little longer, even when fighting in a war.  

He's worried about them, to say the least. But now all of them can start to help Lance heal. One secret is out in the open, and what a terrible secret that had been. Shiro can't seem to let go of the idea that those two are  _ still  _ hiding something. It tickles at the back of his mind, controlling his thoughts and actions. There’s something not quite right about all of this. 

Those words the Galra soldier had growled at Keith. Something about having no honor or loyalty, whatever that means. Once again, Shiro desperately wants to coerce Keith into revealing the truth, but after how well that method went over last time, he has learned.

Then comes the servants’ mumbling and his thoughts are skewed in another direction.

All the Paladins are seated at a large, long table. Glistening plates and goblets are set before them, and the warm scent of food drifts out of what must be the kitchen. Shiro’s stomach unashamedly rumbles, and he allows Pidge to chuckle before shooting her a kind glare. The head of the Brakathi clan sits at the end, raising a glass in a toast Shiro misses the words too as his attention is directed elsewhere.

A servant places a plate in front of Keith, both eyes flickering between the two Paladins. Their skin darkens a deep navy blue as they stutter out a "Pl--please enjoy your meal, y-your highness."

Keith's eyes widen, quickly averting his eyes, and Shiro watches as Lance grips Keith's hand under the table. They're not even being subtle anymore--not that they truly were before.

It’s nice to witness young love. 

Shiro begins to dismiss the Brakathi's odd choice of address, attributing it to Voltron saving their planet. Nevertheless, his eyes track the Brakathi servant as they rush to a place far behind Shiro, presumably searching for a friend.

"Did you see?" the Brakathi whispers, voice high with excitement.

"They're both as cute as the traders have said," the shadowed friend mumbles back.

The servant giggles, swooning. "I can't believe I get to serve them. The Prince and his Paladin." 

The friend is a little more level headed, but Shiro can detect the crumbling restraint in their words. "You should talk to him after, tell him how much you admire what he's done."

"I can't."

"You should try; he'd probably appreciate it."

Shiro struggles to put the pieces together and is soon distracted by alliance talk, dragged into the conversation by Allura and Lanva. He doesn't glance at Keith and Lance again. The words of the servant never completely vanish from his mind though; they just become buried and lost for a little while.

The thought will turn up again, at some point. 

* * *

When Keith finally forces Lance to return to the Castle for some much needed rest--there had been dark bags under his eyes and Keith is beyond worried--he is left alone to wander the palace. Walls are cracked and paint peels; darkened spots on the wall tell the story of missing artwork. Even after only a few days of war, this city and this palace look like they have been under the strain of warfare for decades. The Galra are brutal.

A creak of a floorboard startles Keith. He jumps around, eyes trained on the shadows.

"Come on out," Keith says kindly, though in his hands he holds his bayard. "I know you're there."

A Brakathi shuffles around the corner. Their skin is a light blue, and dark, thick locks are twisted into braids, and they wear the uniform of the people that had served them at dinner. Recognizing this Brakathi as the one who addressed him with his status, his bayard disappears but his body remains taut and untrusting. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, your highness," they apologize.

"Please don't call me that; I'm just Keith."

The Brakathi shakes their head and begins to bow before Keith has the chance to protest. "To us you are Prince Akira and I am honored to be in your presence. The tale of how you stood up against your tyrant father is now a legend in our scrolls. The idea that a Galra of royal blood can stand against the Empire and the Emperor himself has inspired us all.”

He blushes out of embarrassment and shock, wishing for Lance to be right beside him. His lover always has the upper hand in social situations and conversing in general. “Uh, how’d you hear about all that?” Keith replies weakly.

“Whispers have already begun to spread across the galaxy. We are a popular trading hub after all.” The Brakathi smiles encouragingly, stepping a foot or two closer to him. Keith doesn’t move an inch. 

“Oh, that’s--that’s something, I guess.” Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, Keith gazes at the floor, not having the strength for direct eye contact. 

“The traders don’t do you enough justice though, Prince--Keith. You and your mate are even more impressive in person.” 

“T-thanks, I guess,” Keith mumbles. “But Lance is the true hero of that story; I wouldn’t have made it out of there if it wasn’t for him.” The confession easily rolls off his tongue, watching as the Brakathi’s eyes widen. 

“Then you have picked a wonderful companion.”

“I like to think so,” Keith smirks. Lance is beyond perfect, and he’s glad others are able to see that as well. 

The Brakathi stretches out their arms, thin fingers curling over his hands. He can’t help but look into their eyes, curious as what they are going to say. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re brave and amazing and my hero. I believe that you will be the one to end this war. You inspire all of us to fight Zarkon. And not just this planet either, but many other worlds throughout the galaxy.”

After a couple more minutes, Keith is finally able to maneuver his way out of the conversation with a made-up excuse springing up in his mind. Their words resonate with him afterwards, and a smile sneaks up on his face. He’s never given hope to someone--or so many people--before. The feeling is new and different and welcomed. 

* * *

Wandering the hallways had always been a past time of Lance’s before being thrown out of the wormhole, now he finds himself reviving the passion. He had humored Keith by returning to the Castle, but in all honestly, he’s not tired. Keith had to stay behind and Lance doesn’t want to face his nightmares without strong arms wrapped around his body and the comforting sound of Keith’s breaths passing through his lips as he snores lightly. 

“Ah, Lance, just the Paladin I was hoping to see.”

Startled, Lance lifts his gaze to find Coran directly in front of him. “Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow.

Coran clutches a holopad tightly in his grip, his fingers tapping the back in an agitated fashion. Gnawing at his lip, he glances down then back up before extending his arms forward. “I was going to go to Keith first, but I’d rather not freak him out. And then I realized that if he knew anything about this, you probably know as well, since you two have grown close together and--”

“Coran,” Lance quickly interrupts his ramblings. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about, well I guess that’s all from your point of view. I’m sure Keith would be pretty worried--”

“ _ Coran _ .” 

“Sorry, well I guess you should just see for yourself.” Coran hands over the holopad with a grimace. 

Lance quietly scrolls through the contents. Everything about Keith is depicted in the file; it’s biological information mostly, gathered from his numerous times in the pods. But it is what’s found at the end of the file that has Lance becoming rigid. His fingers hover over the screen, paralysed, and slowly he lifts his head to find Coran staring expectantly back at him. 

“So it  _ is  _ true,” Coran mumbles.

“Who knows?” Lance growls, fingers tightening around the device. If he was stronger, he could snap it in two with the amount of anger coursing through him. It’s not directed at Coran but at life in general and the unfairness of it all.

“Sorry?”

“Who else knows about this? Who else did you tell?”

Concerned, Coran steps back, partially frightened. Lance feels a twinge of guilt, wringing his hands in shame at his outburst. “No need to get angry, Lance. No one else knows he’s part Galra.”

The sigh of relief is heartbreaking in the empty hallway.

“You can not tell anyone. Keith--he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Coran nods, weathered eyes sad and oddly comforting. “I can understand why. He’s lucky he didn’t get any of the physical genes from his parent.” His jaw slackens in realization of a thought. “Speaking of that, do you know who sired him?”

“Eh, no, that’s still a mystery,” Lance lies perfectly, mentally cringing at his own words. “And Keith did get some Galra genes; he got quite a lot actually.” He finds a weight lifting off his shoulders as he’s finally able to talk to someone about this. 

“When Shiro said Keith was ‘sick,’ he was actually--”

“Transforming into his Galra form, yes,” Lance easily and truthfully confirms. “It makes its appearance in situations of high stress; it’s hard to calm him down afterwards, for him to change back.”

“I’d imagine it is.” 

“You’re not upset, angry, disgusted, or all of the above?” Lance hesitantly inquires.

Coran sighs as if knowing he would have been asked this question. The expression on his face is unreadable. “It’s not his fault he’s part Galra. There’s not much one can do at this point. Will Allura think the same, that I can not say.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Lance quietly pleads at last, eyes trembling as he stares at Coran. He doesn’t want to dwell on how this will affect Keith if his secret is revealed. They can’t have two broken people in their relationship; they have to be strong for each other. 

“I won’t; I promise. But you have to promise to find me if you ever need any help,” Coran says honestly, reaching for the holopad. 

“Of course. Thanks, Coran.” A bright smile is plastered on Lance’s face, but the Altean does not seem to understand its hidden meaning, happily smiling back.

_ We both know I won’t, but what’s one more lie among friends? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. College was kicking my butt for a few weeks and then midterms popped up out of nowhere.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	30. Chapter 30

“Coran knows,” Lance announces the minute he walks into Keith’s bedroom. His hands are clenched in his jacket’s pockets, head lowered as if ashamed. 

Keith’s throat constricts, the words dying where they lay on his tongue. He doesn’t even have to ask Lance to elaborate; he knows exactly what Lance refers to. It’s almost too crazy to realize how fast this is all tumbling down around them. Attempting to stand up from the bed, he stops when Lance finally wanders over to sit beside him, twiddling his thumbs. Neither of them know how to proceed from here, so Keith takes the initiative to jump off the cliff first.  

“H-how?” he finally chokes out. 

“The healing pods. Your biological information is different now, and he noticed.”

Keith is almost too scared to ask--almost to the point of puking. When he glances at his hands though, he realizes that he’s not shaking and somehow this knowledge allows him to look at Lance in the eyes, ready for any response. “A-and what did he say?”

_ This is it,  _ Keith quickly concludes,  _ he’ll be booted off of the ship in no time.  _ He never told Lance this, and barely admits it to himself, but he has a back up plan for the inevitable fallout. If possible, he’d search out for the Blade, hoping to be useful there since he may not be able to help out Voltron any longer. 

It hurts to think about being cast out again, but part of Keith can’t help but agree with their possible decision. He is the son of their--the universe’s--greatest enemy after all. 

Suddenly warm hands cradle Keith’s face, quietly guiding him to look at Lance, whose lips are forced into a sad frown. Those starlight blue eyes are free of any worry, and in fact, seem pleased more than anything else. It allows Keith to experience an odd sense of hope as he waits for Lance’s answer.  

“Coran’s  _ completely  _ fine with it and won’t tell any of the others,” he replies at last. Fingers travel into Keith’s hair, lethargically scraping across his scalp and catching on a few tangles before casually working through them. “You have nothing to worry about, baby, everything’s still alright.”

Unexpectedly, Keith releases a laugh--one that can be categorized as insane--as his whole body shudders. Lance jerks back in complete shock, confusion dawning on his face. Tears collect at the corners of Keith’s eyes, but he’s not sad. It’s just so unexpected, and…

He’s happy.

He is actually happy. What Lance told him couldn’t have gone better. Keith won’t be forced off the team, he won’t be left alone. At least two people on this ship will support him now--it’s much better odds than with just Lance by his side or no one at all.   

A wayward tear rolls down his cheek, but he doesn’t care. “Thanks, Lance,” Keith says once his laughter has subsided and he has taken control of his body again. Flicking away another loose tear, he smiles up at Lance, crawling closer to bridge the gap. The mattress is soft under his palms and knees, and soon their noses brush as Keith arches his head to lock the connection with a quick kiss. “Thank you,” he repeats again.   

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lance skeptically asks though he returns the kiss and allows Keith to snuggle up against his side. They lean against the wall, and Keith buries his nose into Lance’s hair, appreciating the strong hint of lemon from his shampoo. “You scared me for a bit there.”

Another round of laughter bubbles up in his chest, threatening to expose itself again, but Keith quells it this time. “For once, I’m okay.”

Once one domino falls, they all fall; they both try to forget about that for now. 

* * *

During the last night of the celebration, concluding their last day on the planet, a ball is thrown in their honor. The Brakathi have accepted the offer to join the newly forming Coalition so there is much to celebrate on both sides. Lance is glad they’re making some head way in building up a resistance. It’s a way to fight the war without attacking head on, especially when they know they’re outnumbered.

The hallway Lance waits in is relatively dark--though, he’s not waiting exactly, more like pacing a hole through the thick carpet. A few sconces line the walls to allow a few rays of light to illuminate the area. His dress pants, a little tight but very flowy and easy to dance in, send out a faint glimmer of blue sparkles depending on how he moves. 

Lance fiddles with his shirt, currently agitated by every minor thing--it’s practically see-through--as it hangs on his body. The baby blue sash at his waist somehow manages to tie the whole outfit together, but Lance is still not content. Nothing seems perfect--the shirt is a little itchy, the pants bunch up in the back, and the dampness of the hair gel seeps into his scalp. Something is missing. 

“And here I’d thought you’d be the first one in the ballroom.”

Startled, Lance whips his head around to find Allura strolling up to meet him. She’s clothed in a floor length maroon dress that equally complements her dark skin and bright eyes. “You look beautiful,” Lance says without commenting on her previous statement.

She tosses her white curls over her shoulders to reveal a bare shoulder and a few altean markings curling around her skin. “Thanks, Lance. Now will you tell me why you’re waiting out here and not dancing with a certain someone?”

When Allura winks, Lance can’t help but blush, knowing exactly who she refers to. “I’d just rather not make a fool out of myself tonight.”

“Hmm, well you don’t know this, but I have the same worry.”

“I highly doubt that, Princess.”

“I’ve been asleep for  _ ten thousand _ years. Do you know how much the style of dancing has most likely changed since then?” Agitated, Allura tugs on her hair. “For the past year, I’ve only known war and battle; it’s been so long since we’ve actually had something  _ truly  _ diplomatic to attend.”

“You’re going to do great, Allura. I believe in you.” Lance offers her a small smile. “You’ll command the room like you always do, terrible dancer or not.”

A short chuckle breaks through Allura’s lips as she cocks her head to the side in amusement. Her hand grips his shoulder and her blue eyes convey the same message to him. “You’ll be great, Lance. How about we go in together?”

“Thank you, Allura. That sounds perfect.” Lance allows her to hook her arm around his, her cool hands resting on his forearm as they walk forward. Her touch isn’t quite as comforting as Keith’s, and he finally realizes how silly his old crush on her was. She’s more like an older sister now, only familial love between them.

He prefers this.  

The large, twin wooden doors open automatically, arching inward to reveal the palace’s grand ballroom. The floor is made from a reflective black stone, mirroring the dancer’s movements, thus doubling the occupants in the room and turning them upside down. Crystal chandeliers twirl above, hoisted high on invisible strings. It’s magic; this whole place is simply constructed from magic. Even after the constant war, the ballroom has held onto its charm. The music, the people, just everything envelops Lance enough for his lips to finally curl into a tentative smile. 

Maybe everything will be alright for now. This has always been his element. 

A large staircase leads the way to the floor, and at the foot of the marble steps stands the one person he has been dying to see. Allura releases her hold on his arm, nudging Lance forward. With each step downward, his heart thumps a little louder.       

Keith's body is adorned with vibrant red silks, softly falling across his body and wrapping around his chest. A sliver of his pale stomach is left exposed, enough to tantalize Lance's mind. Embroidered flames lick at the ends of his long sleeves, and they move slightly as if part of a hologram, while flowing harem pants taper at the waist and ankles. Those unruly locks are drawn up into a messy bun where shorter pieces fall in ringlets to frame his face and highlight his eyes that sparkle under the white glow of the ballroom's crystal lights. All in all, Keith takes upon the appearance of a god. No, he looks like the prince he is meant to be.

Screw this secret--not so secret--relationship; Lance is going to show the world how much Keith means to him. 

“Hey,” Keith softly whispers, fingers playing with the hem of Lance’s sleeves, unashamedly admiring him, “You clean up nicely.”

Lance smirks, eyes gleaming. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” Which is the understatement of the century, but by the dazzling look in Keith’s eyes, he said the right thing.

They stand near what must be the Brakathi’s version of punch--only it’s a dark purple and bubbles on certain intervals, so Lance won’t be touching that tonight. A distant song has started to play and many Brakathi, including a few servants, drag their partners to the middle of the floor. He spots Hunk swinging Pidge around, Coran showing off his ten thousand year old dance moves, and Shiro, Allura, and Lanva engaging in some sort of conversation. He hopes he gets to see Allura dance tonight. 

As a smile twinges on his lips, he turns back to Keith. “It must have been hard to get that outfit on,” Lance remarks absentmindedly. Too many folds and crisscrossing layers are wound around his upper body.

“Not as hard as it will be to get out of them,” Keith says calmly; a hint of cockiness in his tone.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage.”

The light plays tricks on Keith’s eyes, a flash of yellow, a wave of purple, and a storm of gray. Every color swirls together to form a perfect picture. “I hope that’s a promise, Mr. Blue Paladin,” Keith husks, entire body much closer now and fingers dancing on the thin material of his shirt, “But you should make an honest man out of me first and ask me to dance.”

Lance chalks up this newfound flirty confidence to be caused by the punch--a bit of purple stains Keith’s lips. He doesn’t mind this brazenness though, and in fact welcomes it. Delicately, he grabs Keith’s hand, leaning down to press a kiss onto his skin. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course," Keith replies, completely serious with a tilt to his lips.

Hand in hand, they walk onto the dance floor with purpose laced within their steps. The previous song allows the last notes linger, until they only echo throughout the room, and a new melody begins shortly after.  

"I have to admit though," Keith confides as Lance's hands find the correct positions on his body, "I don't know how to dance."

"Just follow my lead."

A beat burns through the room as the Brakathi musicians begin the next dance. 

Lance immediately steps back with the rhythm, laughing as Keith struggles to keep up with the movements at first. He tightens his hand on Lance’s right shoulder as he’s held in the crook of his arm, and their hands are clasped together as Lance begins to lead him around the floor. It doesn’t take long, Lance finds, for Keith to settle into the repetitive movements, his body loosening enough to follow the sway of Lance’s hips and quick footwork. Keith ecstatically laughs when Lance spins him for the first time and he slides back into his arms.

The smile breaking out on Keith’s face is enough to blind Lance with the sheer intensity of it. 

At one point, probably around the second song or so, Keith gains enough confidence for Lance to pick him up. They spin as he hooks an arm around Lance’s shoulder to steady himself. Lance can’t register anything around him anymore, only the beat of the music and the pulsing of Keith’s heart. When they settle back down, Keith is fully wrapped in Lance’s embrace, and Lance nudges him to throw his arms around his neck to sway together, both tired.

The dance floor had been entirely empty during their performance, but they have yet to notice. 

“That was fun,” Keith replies simply, cheeks flushed with a bit of adrenaline and over exertion. At some point during one of the spins, his hair had completely escaped from the bun, now falling lightly around his face in thick waves. “I didn’t know you could move like that.”

“Well now you do,” Lance smiles as his forehead touches Keith’s, “And I know your secret.”

“Oh?” Keith cocks an eyebrow, “What would that be?”

“That you enjoy dancing.”

“I didn’t know that until right now either, but I only like it because you’re my partner,”  _ in more ways than one.  _ Technically, Keith doesn’t utter aloud those remaining words, but Lance can still hear them.

Without thought, Lance quickly press his lips into Keith’s smile. Giddiness races through him as Keith automatically pulls him closer, bodies colliding into one. Lance’s hand lazily plays with a lock that brushes Keith’s shoulder, twisting it around his fingers. It’s a quick kiss but perfect nonetheless.     

A faint barrage of clapping breaks through their perfectly constructed bubble. Keith turns around in Lance’s arms to be face to face with all of their friends and the Brakathi. Everyone holds genuine grins on their faces.

“Thank God that’s out in the open now,”  Pidge calls out before they all fall into a fit of giggles. “It was about time.”

With Keith’s arm wrapped tight around his body, Lance continues to beam as the applause fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. 
> 
> My all time favorite headcanon is that Lance and Keith always steal the show when they have to attend balls and stuff, which is why I’m so happy I was finally able to include that in this fic. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	31. Chapter 31

It’s definitely a dream. This Keith is certain of because he remembers going to sleep with Lance after they left the Brakathi homeworld. So he can not be awake already--can he? The edges of his vision blur a dark gray as he swings his eyes around the castle’s bridge. They’re traveling through a wormhole, the blues and purples and pinks and overall blackness of the phenomenon lighting up across the viewing screens. 

He knows this is a dream because suddenly he’s not in his own body anymore but is given a third person perspective. No one is at their designated stations, all crowded around one person.

The sense of direction changes once again and suddenly Keith is in the group, staring at himself. Though, it is not exactly his true self but is in fact his Galra appearance. Large, fluffy ears pressed against his head in silent fear, crisp yellow eyes flickering back in forth over everyone, fangs bared as if hoping to appear threatening, and his skin a flawless violet. 

Only then does Dream-Keith speak. “Now you know; are you  _ happy _ ?!” The growl bounces throughout the bridge, finally animating his group of friends into a commotion.

“Monster” and “enemy” are the phrases thrown around the most; Coran and Allura are especially agitated by the sudden change.

Finally one person breaks through the crowd. Lance’s broad shoulders are taut as he stares at Dream-Keith before facing the rest of the Paladins. His blue eyes are cold, ice crackling over the surface, and he’s grown out the undercut, his hair now the length it had been when they first saved Shiro together. 

“Keith,” he says, addressing both Dream-Keith and Real-Keith at the same time. “It seems like this will cause a rift in the team, and we can’t have that. It will be easier to find a replacement Red Paladin, so I think it’s best for you to go.” Side eyeing Dream-Keith, he finishes with, “Don’t you agree,  _ babe _ ?”

This Lance cocks his hip as he fully swings his gaze back towards Dream-Keith, who has almost shrunk completely into the shadows that suddenly consume the vision. “Y-you don’t m-mean that,” his other self stutters.

“I agree with Lance--” Shiro suddenly steps forward, everyone else nodding with their dark, emotionless eyes “--It’s for the best. You can’t be selfish and risk the balance of Voltron. And the  _ team  _ always comes first.” 

“It’s not my fault the team can’t accept me!” Dream-Keith screams, voice already hoarse as if he has been hollering for hours without a break. 

“But it is.”

“You never made it easy for us when we believed you were human either,” Pidge comments, lenses glinting, “What makes you think you can fit in now?”

Lance’s arm is wrapped tightly, but comfortably, around him when he wakes up with a gasp. It’s difficult to breathe at first, lungs crying for deep breaths when the only thing Keith’s body can do is shake. His mouth aches as if his fangs are trying to emerge, and his skin itches along his arms and chest. Once the self-inflicted hiccups subside and his erratic heart rate simmers down, he realizes Lance hadn’t woken up at all. He frowns in disappointment but then berates himself; Lance needs to sleep and has enough to worry about. This is the part where Keith can’t be  _ selfish _ , adding his own burden onto Lance’s shoulders.   

In the dark, a tear slides down, falling off his cheek and landing with a small plop onto Lance’s bare arm. He doesn’t notice.

Keith leaves the bedroom, hoping to find something, anything, to distract him.

* * *

It doesn’t shock Lance to find Keith with Red, sitting on her paw and lying back against her front leg. What surprises him is that Keith is here with Pidge and not somewhere where he can be alone. His eyes are closed but his body tenses as Lance’s footsteps echo through the hanger and the automatic door closes behind him. 

Giving a nod of acknowledgement to Pidge and a little wave to Blue, Lance quickly reaches Keith, his legs making long strides. Keith cracks an eye open, a single eyebrow disappearing behind his bangs. 

“Hey,” Lance says, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, shly shrugging.

“Hey,” Keith repeats back, a tentative smile appearing.

“Wow,” Pidge dryly comments, “And here I was worried that you two would be spewing lovey dovey things to each other all the time.”  

Lance glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.” Leaning down in front of Keith, who has now opened both eyes in anticipation, Lance plasters on his best flirtatious grin. “Have I told you how radiant you look under this artificial lighting? Your skin is positively glowing.”

In truth, dark bags, from little to no sleep, are visible underneath Keith’s eyes, and Lance has to bite back a worried frown, keeping up with the facade.

“No, you haven’t,” Keith answered slyly, playing along. He grabs onto Lance’s jacket, dragging him further downward. Their lips could easily touch if they so desired. “Have I told how lovely the color of your eyes is? I often get lost in the depths.” 

“Babe, you always say the  _ loveliest  _ things,” Lance heavily emphasizes, lips puckering for a kiss. 

Keith only laughs.

“No, none of that will be necessary.” Pidge’s auburn hair has grown past her jaw, though it still manages to stick up in awkward directions, and she frustratingly brushes it away from her eyes to properly glare at them. With that, she returns to her work.

Lance and Keith fall into a quiet conversation after he is offered a place to sit on Red’s paw. Head falling onto Keith’s shoulder, he sighs, breathing in the cinnamon scent from his shampoo and feeling the warmth radiating off of Red and into his skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears a jealous purr and sends out comforting messages to Blue. No lion could ever replace her. 

“In all seriousness,” Lance whispers quietly, eyes trained on Keith’s face, cataloging the dark rings, the downward tilt of his lips, and the barely visible stress lines. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine--”

“Don’t you dare bullshit me, Keith Kogane--” a growl threatens to escape from the back of his throat “--I know you left in the middle of the night. Well, I mean, I woke up and you were gone and just figured you were in the bathroom so I fell back to sleep. But that doesn’t matter now. I doubt that you even came back to bed at all.”

“This is actually really weird now,” Pidge interrupts absentmindedly, suddenly looking up from her computer screen and turning in her chair to face them.

“Really?” Lance says just as Keith asks,

“How so?”

“Well I mean at first it was you two arguing all the time, which was equally loud and annoying. Then we lost you and everything was silent. It was hard to get used to at first because for some reason it’s easier for me to concentrate on my work hearing your stupid arguments and competitions in the background. But now you’re back and in love and… different.” Pidge sighs. “I can’t explain it as well as I would like, but it’s just a whole new version to get used to again.”    

Lance snickers. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure Keith and I will get into a lot of stupid arguments. Like hogging the covers and snoring and whether it’s okay to use the other’s toothbrush--”

“It’s not,” Keith intercedes.

“See, nothing to worry about. We’re still the same; nothing will change from here on out.”

Pidge concedes to allow a meaningful smile on her face, her amber eyes sparkling. “Thanks, Lance.”  

But even she had seen the changes in their personality--catching the darkness of past traumas that now floats in their eyes--Lance thought he had been doing a good job of covering it with bravado until he had met the Druids again. Once that happened, everything that had been perfectly planned and covered up had gone to shit. 

“No problem, Munchkin,” Lance teasingly replies back.

Suddenly, Pidge hops off the chair, marching over to Lance, and straightening her body to reach her full height that  _ just  _ reaches Lance’s shoulder. “I’ll have you know that I grew an inch while you were gone.” Hands on her hips, she sternly gazes up at him, lips scowling as his body shakes with unavoidable silent laughter. 

“A whole inch?! Keith, did you hear that?” His attempts to cover his mouth, to block any giggles that might escape, but it’s a useless gesture. 

“I sure did.” Keith stands by Lance, arms crossed against his chest. Though he may be an inch or two shorter than Lance, that still gives him many, many inches over Pidge. 

“She’s all grown up now,” Lance proceeds to comment, talking only to Keith as if Pidge isn’t right in front of them. 

“I hate both of you.” Pidge rolls her eyes, though she doesn’t leave them. “Why did we even want you back?”

“I know that’s code for you love us and missed us everyday.” He immediately wraps Pidge in his lanky arms, picking her up and spinning her quickly in a hug. The world twirls along with them, Keith becoming a blur of soft eyes and an even softer smile.

“Sure, we can go with that,” she says, eyes squeezed shut and a wild smile on her face.

Lance laughs, “That’s more like it.”

When her feet touch the ground, Pidge wobbles slightly, fixing her crooked glasses as she regains her barings. “I guess I  _ did  _ miss you, both of y--”

“Paladins,” Allura’s voice hollers through the ships speakers as an alarm blazes, causing all three of them to jump, playfulness washing off their face, “We have an intruder on level seven!”

* * *

The masked figure flies through the halls, barreling into Hunk and throwing him over his shoulder to land directly in Lance’s path, causing him to tumble down along with his best friend. Keith sidesteps the pile of limbs and frustrated expressions, feet barely touching the ground as he sprints faster. He knows Shiro and Pidge are up ahead around the corner, their voices crackling in his ear as they ask for updates he can’t spare to give them. Keith can’t allow this alien to get that far.

Seeing an opportunity, Keith brazenly drops to the floor, using his momentum to slide under the intruder to knock him off with his feet with a swift kick to his legs. Keith’s back burns through his Paladin armor from the maneuver. 

It doesn’t even take a second for the alien to hop back onto his feet, now facing Keith like the serious threat he is. He growls, lips curling at the inkling of a fight; his body screams for him to lunge forward.

Thrusting his hand out to his side, his bayard appears in his hand and immediately transforms, weight leveling out in his grip as both ends lengthen into sharp blades. 

Because of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his breath hitching as he exceeds his body’s potential, Keith does not register what his weapon has turned into. Nor does he register the sharp, purple glow that covers everything in his path.

As he twirls the dual-blade in his hands, the air singing around him, the alien draws his sword to meet Keith in battle.

The mask of the alien partially distracts him--the circular eyes holes that aren’t necessarily meant to be eye holes but somehow still manage to stare into his soul, the faint glow that comes from the thin slits near the jaw. The whole aesthetic screams something familiar, but Keith has to push it aside as he raises his sword to block. Unfortunately the alien is strong, single handedly able to push him into the wall, his feet unable to gain any traction.

Keith grunts, hoping to throw the alien off or knee him in the groin--though he highly doubts that the anatomy is the same for all species. Left without many options, mouth pulling into a grim expression, he’s tempted to try it until his eyes finally catch onto the round gem sitting at the top of the hilt of the intruder’s weapon that inches dangerously close to his face. 

That purple symbol. 

“Wait! Y-you’re part of the Blade--”

The alien staggers back as if Keith’s words punctured his heart or hearts; the mask blocks any expression of shock he might have. Yet, Keith believes he heard a slight gasp escape from him before he had released Keith. The masked figure’s words clearly convey the surprise though. “It can’t be. You’re Pr--”

“Oh thank God; Keith caught him,” Lance huffs, nearly collapsing right next to Keith as his body shudders in exhaustion from the long chase. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead. “You alright?” he quickly asks, eyes roaming over Keith’s body for visible injuries. 

“Fine; you?”

“Just peachy.”

Upon seeing everyone tower around him now, the alien dips his head in defeat, hands held up in surrender and mask dissolving as he pushes his hood backwards. Large, purple ears spring out from the side of his head, and dusty, yellow eyes blink back at them. His tail, which Keith doesn’t remember seeing before, flicks against the ground as if he’s concerned about his fate; his stern face is completely expressionless, unreadable though.

“He’s Galra!” Allura exclaims, a hint of contempt in her voice as her grip tightens on her staff. 

Keith cringes.

“I’d like to hear what he has to say. If he wanted to sabotage or hurt us in any way, he wasn't doing a very good job,” Shiro says, briefly placing a hand on Allura’s shoulder before moving directly in front the Galra. “I’m sure you have a reason for boarding us, yes?”

“Please, Paladins, we need your help. The Blade is not equipped to help evacuate an entire people from their planet,” the Galra rushes, his words practically smashing together. A new member most likely, Keith muses, no seasoned member of any organization would give themselves away that easily. 

Though, why they had to sneak onto the ship instead of contacting them directly is a little beyond Keith.

Unless this Galra was specifically searching for someone, for him.   

Allura stands near Shiro; she may appear calmer but Keith watches as her hands tremble. “What makes you think we can believe you? This is all a trap set by Zarkon, I presume? You can tell him we don’t take kindly to these tactics, that is if we send you back at all.”

Shiro seems frustrated by the Princess’s words but it’s Keith who speaks up, feeling doom creep upon him. It’s as if this is all a prelude to his dream. “No, we should listen to him.”

At Allura’s flabbergasted expression, Lance supports Keith, their fingers locking together in silent support. “Uh, yeah, Keith and I encountered this rebel group before. Two members helped us escape. They’re trustworthy.”

“They are correct,” the Galra quickly agrees as if fighting for his life. “The Blade of Marmora would never allow our pri--”

“Allura,” Keith quicky interrupts the Blade member, “We  _ should  _ hear him out.” He stares directly into her eyes, hoping this helps convey the message. 

“I agree,” Hunk adds in, Pidge nodding along with him. Keith doesn’t acknowledge the support but he hopes they know how much he appreciates it. 

She grits her teeth. “Alright. But he’s going to be handcuffed.”

Keith nods subtly, accepting the conditions, his stomach clenching at the look in her eyes. Lance’s hand squeezes his in comfort. It doesn’t really work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to see The Last Jedi in a couple of hours; I'm so excited!!!
> 
> If I don't update before the new year, I hope you all have a happy holidays.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay I apologize so much for the lateness of this chapter. I had no motivation to write during my break. But I forced myself to update this week. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

“So what’s with the new bayard formation?” Shiro asks as Allura begins to lead the Blade member away. 

Keith falters, eyes glancing down at his trembling hand and the glowing bayard. Unprepared for his stop, Shiro has to backtrack, having walked a few steps ahead of Keith before realizing the other was no longer following him. Somewhere behind Keith, he can feel Lance’s presence, standing a few cautious steps away from them. “I uh…”

“It’s a really pretty color,” Hunk intercedes from behind him. “I don’t know why, but the new weapon really seems to suite you.”

Pidge actually squats down, eyes greedily roaming over his new weapon for a proper look at it. “It’s so cool!” He can practically see her mind consuming every aspect of the new technology as she rubs her hands together. 

Maybe he should keep his bayard somewhere safe tonight. Keith rather not wake up to find Pidge running experiments on it or something equally terrifying and confusing. 

“You gotta show us how you fight with it during training sometimes; Lance already showed us his. Now it’s your turn.” Hunk claps a hand on his shoulder, administering a tight, friendly squeeze. 

Speechless, Keith angles his head to stare at Lance, mostly for help and comfort, but his boyfriend sends him a proud smile, eyes sparkling with happiness. Even with just that gesture, it manages to fill Keith with some of the confidence he had been missing. “You guys actually like it?”

“Yeah,” Pidge nods enthusiastically, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, I... umm, thanks,” Keith decides to say instead, “It means a lot.”

The glow may add an eerie purple hue to his pale skin, but for once Keith doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they  _ would  _ accept his Galra form.

It gives him the hope he needs until everything comes crashing back down around him.

They arrive to the lounge area, upon finding out that Allura hadn’t wanted to take the Blade member to the bridge--which is understandable in Keith’s opinion; you can’t completely trust people you just met, no matter what they have said. Everyone had learned this lesson with Rolo and Nyma, and only a fool is tricked twice.

Shiro sits on the couch across from the Galra; everyone else takes position behind him. The Blade member doesn’t necessarily seem to mind being handcuffed, but his yellow eyes do flicker over everyone at least once, as if studying them for strengths and weaknesses. It’s only a little unsettling. 

“Let’s start with your name,” Shiro beings, a firm, but pleasant, expression set upon his features. 

“It’s Regris.”

Shiro nods, grateful for the ease at which Regris divulges information. But, Keith guesses, this is only because they do not have the time to play a game of cat and mouse, based on the nervous energy that had surrounded the Galra when they first caught him. “I’m sure you know us already, but I’m Shiro, and that’s--”

“Yes, I have already been briefed with information on all of you, well mainly one, the one who I  _ originally  _ came to speak with actually,” Regris rambles, and Keith unexpectedly feels sweat beading up on the surface of his forehead. His hands become clammy. 

“Oh?” This interests Shiro now as he leans forward, “And who did you want to speak to?”

“Pr--Keith. I had been told to speak to the one named Keith. My superiors said that he would help us.”

Keith looks to the ceiling, attempting to avoid all eye contact as he feels every gaze in the room land on him, some more confused than others. A pair of blue eyes crackle with worry, and he can only hope that whatever Regris has to say is quick. When he finally allows his gaze to travel back down, a brief bit of shock rattles his bones as he finds Shiro’s eyes still locked onto him. He swallows his anxiety, pointedly staring at Shiro until the other turns away. 

“Interesting. Now, since  _ I’m  _ the leader, how about you tell  _ me  _ everything, and I promise that if we can help, we will.” Shiro clasps his hands together, arms propped up and chin resting on the back of his hands.

Regris squirms under the scrutiny, quite agitated. “This had not been my mission, but it seems like I have no other choice.”

“That is correct.”

The Galra breathes deeply, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he organizes his thoughts into complete, intelligible sentences. “A planet named Tazer is under attack by a massive Galra fleet--”

A loud gasp fills the silent space immediately; Keith isn’t sure if it is from himself or if it had emanated from Lance. By the look on his boyfriend’s face though, it may have been from both of them. All eyes once again fall onto him. “Uh, sorry, I accidentally hit my bruised side,” Keith lies quickly, not knowing why that had been his immediate response. 

Coran is quick to pipe in next. “If you need a healing pod, I--”

“Nope, no, I’m all set,” Keith grimaces, “I think I’ll just sit down for now.” Easing himself onto the cushions, he almost allows his mind to drift away because of the immediate relief sitting down provides to his body and pretend that what he is hearing is not the truth.

It’s unreal. His true home planet under attack. This has to be a trap of some sort. Tazer is a place of no strategic value to Zarkon, so the only purpose attacking it must have is to draw his son out of hiding, which it successfully will. Keith shudders at the thought, wondering for the first time what will be awaiting them there and what will be hiding in the shadows. 

Lance’s eyes are hard to ignore. They bore into his mind with curiosity, head subtly tilted to the side as if trying to understand the lie Keith had told a minute ago. Keith discreetly puts his finger to his lips; Lance receives the message.

No one else appears to have recalled the planet as being the same one from when Keith and Lance had first described their adventure. He’d like to keep it that way.

“As I was saying,” Regris continues, “We need your help to evacuate this planet. I must admit we usually don’t concern ourselves with the trivial things such as these and are an organization suited for fighting. But this world has special meaning to our future leader.”

For a brief minute, yellow eyes connect with his and Keith can’t look away. 

“The planet is being bombed and will be unlivable in a weeks time. This is why we ask for your help. We can not fight  _ and  _ protect the people; our numbers are too thin, too spread out.”     

“We will help you, Regris,” Shiro firmly promises, “We will help those people; that’s what Voltron was created for.” Then he turns back to the group of paladins behind him, searching for disapproval. “Allura?” he asks, knowing that she truly has the final say since she controls the Castle.

She frowns but answers in a tone that is surprisingly unguarded. “If we use the teludav, we’ll be there immediately.”

“My superiors suggested that we rendezvous at a site before than, to coordinate our attack.”

“Tell Coran the coordinates and we’ll be there,” Allura commands with a sharp nod. 

As they all head to the bridge, Keith lingers on the couch only to feel warm hands beginning to massage his shoulders, and their thighs touch as Lance sits down beside him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Lance softly inquires, his voice a summer’s breeze as it drifts by Keith’s ear. His eyes are an ocean, a perfect place to drown in. They’re so close that Keith can can count every individual freckle scattered across his brown skin and track the thin, pale line of his scar cutting through his cheek.

Keith sighs, dropping his gaze to the floor, counting the imperfections in the white metal. There are none. “It’s too close to my secret. My mother came from that planet; my aunt might still be living there. If they find out, it’s a step closer to them discovering that I’m Galra.”

“You saw that Allura has warmed up to Regris, a complete stranger,” Lance tries to soothe his nerves, a hand carding through his tangled locks, brushing his bangs away from his face. “She’ll accept you in a heartbeat.”

“I know her though. She’s just doing this for the good of the mission.” Keith hates that he is confident with that declaration. “You can tell she doesn’t trust him and never will.”

Lance doesn’t argue, as if deep inside he had seen that observation too. But that doesn’t stop him from saying, “I’ll support you with whatever you want to do.”

“Thank you, Lance.” Soft lips caress his skin as Lance leans in for a simple kiss. Their fingers lock together, and Lance tightly squeezes his hand, as if holding onto Keith for dear life. 

“I hope Sandra’s okay,” Lance whispers quietly, resting his head on Keith’s shoulders, neither of them in any rush to go to the bridge. 

Keith is barely loud enough, but his words are still there. “I hope so too.” 

His body trembles, daring himself not to think of the other possibility.

* * *

They land the Castle on a small, uninhabited moon a few planets away from Tazer. The place is gray, gloomy, and practically void of any color. No atmosphere has them all wearing their helmets, and for once, Keith is glad of this. It’s as if his helmet provides some sort of barrier from the rest of his teammates, allowing him a quiet place to think as his thoughts scream in his head, every secret cluttering his mind. 

His breath manages to fog up the glass.

When they all step out, feet clapping on the ramp as they walk onto the ground and as Regris joins his group, the Blade members immediately bow, the eye holes of their masks trained on the dusty ground, bodies bent in a perfect ninety degree angle. A new wave of anxiety makes its presence known as it churns in Keith’s stomach. He knows exactly what is happening and awkwardly attempts to hide himself behind Hunk’s large body even though the Blade has already spotted him.

Somewhere to his left he hears Lance snicker, and Keith shoots him a glare, though his lips admittedly twitch slightly into a brief smile--because, in all honesty, this situation is a little ridiculous. Who would have thought that a whole rebel organization would be bowing to him?

Certainly not Keith, especially if you asked him only a few months ago.   

“There’s no need to bow to us, Blade members, we are all on equal footing,” Allura says, walking to the front as a sort of ambassador. Shiro is directly behind her. 

Of course, her conclusion is logical. To everyone else on the team, minus Lance, she is the only royalty on board. 

“No disrespect intended, Princess, but we are not bowing to you.” Keith does not recognize the Galra who speaks up, the broad shoulders and very muscled body not fitting either Ulaz’s or Thace’s body types. 

Keith’s gaze flickers over the other masked Blade members; he doesn’t immediately spot the other two Galra, but he doesn’t doubt the they’re somewhere in this crowd. They were probably the ones who had been the most adamant about saving this planet. After all, Keith had told them to get Sandra off that rock, sensing something like this may happen. He can only hope that they listened to his command.  

Allura is startled; this does not go unnoticed by anybody. “Then who--”

“You know what would be great,” Lance loudly exclaims, “helping out the Tazerons.” He places a hand on Allura’s shoulder, flashing an obnoxious grin and otherwise taking all the attention off of the conversation and placing it onto himself. 

Keith has never loved him more. 

Another Blade member steps up to whisper in their leader’s ear, who nods in what must be agreement. “I believe we should finalize our battle plans inside?”

“That sounds perfect,” Lance says, only to nudge Allura, who still seems to be working out the implications of the previous statements. “Don’t you agree, Allura?”

“Ah, yes, follow me.”

Three Galra stand on the bridge, maps of the planet dusting everyone in bright blue lights. The leader who had spoken first is named Kolivan, the other two that had come with are none other than Thace and Ulaz.

There’s a lull in planning as Kolivan, who sports red markings on his forehead and above his eyes and has a deep, but old, scar cutting through his skin, talks determinately with Hunk and Pidge, conversing over some tech that Keith couldn’t follow the moment words had left their mouths. Thace had been able to keep up, but Ulaz steps back from the table, interested in something else. 

His long legs, accounting for his impressive height, allow him to quickly reach Shiro and Keith, who had both been lazily tracking the conversation. Keith half expects Ulaz to greet him or discreetly give him some sort of update, but instead, those yellow eyes fall onto the Black Paladin as he crosses his arms over his chest.  

“I knew saving you had been the right choice, Champion. Who knew that you’d become the leader of Voltron.”

Shiro can’t manage to mask his confusion, mouth managing to gap slightly. “I’m sorry, I do--I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, I guess you would not remember, not with the brutality you had gone through,” Ulaz muses, “I’m the one who helped you escape.”

“I might not remember it, but I also know you have no reason to lie about that, so thank you.” Shiro clasps their hands together, much to Ulaz’s surprise. “You saved my life.”   

“I’m glad I did, Paladin,” the Galra’s eyes shine with pride at what Shiro has accomplished. 

Pidge calls Shiro over, who quickly excuses himself from the conversation before jogging the small distance. This leaves Keith and Ulaz alone, or as alone as they can be with ten people in the room within earshot. His violet eyes stare at the Galra with hope, for any information he can provide. Just anything at this point. 

Ulaz smirks slightly, and an embarrassed blush breaks across Keith’s skin; his emotions have never been that apparent before. “Come find us after dark, young prince, there’s someone who wants to see you.” With that, he leaves to join the others.

“What was that about?” Shiro asks as Keith wanders back towards them a few seconds afterwards, trying to quell all these ecstatic emotions, because Sandra is definitely alive and maybe Talia is with her too--though he doesn’t want her anywhere near this situation; she’s too young to keep witnessing such horrors. But he knows Lance would love to see her, they both would. 

“He was just thanking us again,” Keith lies for the second time that day. 

“Alright,” Shiro replies, but even Keith can tell that he no longer believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating. My spring semester kicked my ass and between essays and the readings, I barely had time to think of this story. I’m sorry if this chapter sucks; I had the first half written for like five months but it’s been a struggle to write the last half, even after school finished.

 

They sleep together, Keith curled at his side and head nuzzling into Lance’s neck as he snores quietly, the vibrations phasing through his skin. Lance can’t sleep. His fingers absentmindedly rub concentric circles on Keith’s bare back as he stares up at the ceiling, eyes wide and thoughts erratic. 

“I hope you’re alright,” he whispers quietly, knowing Keith is in too deep of a sleep to wake. His boyfriend rarely wakes up during the night now; whether because Keith is no longer plagued with horrifying dreams or if it’s just because he feels safe in Lance’s embrace, Lance will never know. Sometimes, Keith does become restless, twisting in the sheets and startling Lance out of his REM state, but all it takes is a warm hand on Keith’s back or dragging him to Lance’s chest; it always calms him down in the end. 

Their sleeping patterns have switched now, not that Keith has realized it--Lance would  _ never  _ want him to find out. He chuckles at the irony though. This doesn’t mean Lance enjoys his nightmares that keep him up for most of the night even when his body screams for rest--the images of his first, real kill have never once left him alone--but if it allows him to see Keith at ease, there is something positive to be found here. 

Tonight, Keith looks peaceful, serene even, a small smile fluttering on his lips. But Lance frowns, mind drowning in his own fabricated worst case scenarios. 

He’d never force Keith, but he knows, he  _ knows  _ that his boyfriend is making a mistake. The longer any secret remains hidden, the worse it becomes for every person involved. And right now, that includes everyone on board this ship. Coran knows some of it and doesn’t care, and everyone is accepting of the Blade so far. Lance doesn’t understand where this new fear is coming from--okay, so maybe he does.

Being the son of the universe’s worst dictator and butcherer of millions probably would not give anyone warm and fuzzy feelings. Their friends wouldn’t, and shouldn’t, care... hopefully. That last bit of uncertainty, of not knowing for sure their reactions, kills Keith, something Lance realizes every time his secret is about to be blown. 

Both broken in different ways, Lance is scared for their future.

“Oh, Keith,” he says, his fingers drifting over his cheek, “What are we going to do?”

As expected, Keith doesn’t respond. Lance sighs nevertheless, flopping back onto his pillow to look at the starless ceiling. 

“What are we going to do?” he repeats, groaning as the heels of his hands rub his eyes. “If only I could help you…” he trails off soon after.

There had been a song his mother used to sing him when he was five and had too much energy to go to sleep. What Lance wouldn’t give to hear his mother’s soft voice right now; she’d chase all of his worries away with just the lyrics. A tear slips down his cheek as he thinks of his family for the first time in what must be months. His clothes no longer hold the scent of the detergent his father always used too much of, and he almost can’t recall the way his mother looked at him when she was proud--proud of him for getting into the Garrison, proud of him for becoming a fighter pilot.

Lance wonders if she would be proud of him now or if she just thinks that he’s dead. Did his family hold a funeral for him? Did they cry because they had no body, only an empty casket, and no possible hope of him being alive? Of course they cried; they probably still cry when no one can see them.

He’s dead and alive at the same time. 

It leaves him in a constant state of flux.

A hand suddenly reaches out, a thumb catching another loose tear. Violet eyes peer at him in the darkness. “Why are you crying?” Keith asks, alert from the observation. His arms wrap around Lance’s waist as he drags Lance impossibly closer to him.

“I’m not,” he weakly protests.

Keith studies him, a hand caressing the side of his face. “Did you have another nightmare?”  

Ducking his head, Lance’s lips press into the skin on the side of Keith’s neck. “Not exactly.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, placing a kiss on Lance’s forehead.

“My family,” he whispers, “I miss them.”

Silence lingers for a moment as Keith’s eyes flicker across Lance’s face, drinking in everything about him. Then he says, “You’ll see them again, I have no doubt about that. It might not be soon but you will get back to Earth, no matter what. That’s my promise to you.” 

Lance only shakes his head, disbelief swimming in his eyes, lips taut in a frown. “You can’t promise that. No one can.”

“I can,” Keith’s tone leaves no room for argument, “You’ll get to see your family again.”

“Hmm, I guess,” Lance eventually concedes, the dark part of his mind still unwilling to believe it even though he plasters a partially fake smile on his face. “That means you’ll get to see them too.”

“Yeah?”

“My mom’s going to love you,” he begins, eyes brightening finally as his speech quickens with hope. “And my siblings will of course make fun of your hair--we’re a strict no mullet family--” Keith laughs at that and the sound runs through Lance’s body “--and my dad will cook us his famous  _ paella  _ recipe. Our house is small, so we’ll have to share my old bedroom which means my mom will probably give us  _ The Talk _ , but we’ve been in worse situations. But the best thing though, we’ll be able to look up at the stars in the backyard and never have to worry about the war.” 

“That sounds amazing, Lance,” Keith replies breathlessly, “it really does. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Silence quickly descends upon them as that giddy smile quickly slips from Lance’s lips into a more somber expression. His eyes skirt around the darkness, realizing he hasn’t heard any of their other teammates wandering outside in awhile. Everyone must be asleep at last. “It’s time to go,” Lance says gently, brushing a lock of hair away from Keith’s face. 

“Where?” Keith cocks his head in confusion, sleepiness still muddling his thoughts. 

“We gotta see  _ your  _ family, remember?”

Keith smiles at that.

* * *

 

The darkness is overwhelming at first, the black seeping into every pour. There's a star somewhere beyond this moon, but as far as Keith is concerned it's just one of those tiny specks too far away to be impactful. Lance is beside him as they trek across the moon's dusty surface. The less severe gravity has them jumping slightly whenever they casually take their next step, but he is anchored as Lance’s hand intertwines with his, squeezing gently. Breath fogging up the glass of his helmet, Keith directs his gaze towards the Blade of Marmora ships resting in a few shallow craters. 

Footprints are left in their wake on the dusty moon surface, leaving a perfect record of their journey but Keith doesn’t let that bother him. 

“Ever wonder what it would be like to just float out there?” Lance muses, breaking Keith away from his thoughts. His gaze is directed towards the vast space, the neverending darkness, and Keith has to gulp at the thought. 

What brought this to mind?

“No.”

Lance’s shock is subtle, his eyes drifting quickly to Keith’s face before being captured by the stars again. His expression is one found on a person who’s far removed from their current situation; that forlong look only slightly worries Keith. “Hmm, really? It seems like it’d be peaceful.”

“Lonely,” Keith adds.

“What?”

Keith fully turns to Lance, face caught in a neutral expression as he tries to study the mask Lance wares. “It’d be peaceful but lonely.”   

“I would have thought you’d like the solitude,” Lance muses with a chuckle, his face shadowed inside of his helmet. 

Brows furrowing, Keith forces himself not to frown. “Not anymore.”

There’s a quiet smile flickering on Lance’s lips as if he’s about to make a joke but his unspoken words are interrupted by a Blade member. “Who are you?” one of the guards ask, “Speak!”

They stand in front of the main ship only to be ushered inside by a Galra soldier who towers over both of them, reaching a good seven or so feet. A breath of fresh air--or as fresh as recycled oxygen can be--washes over Keith as he pulls off his helmet, shaking out his long hair, and he allows his Galra transformation to sweep across his body. It gets easier every time now, especially when he does it willingly. “Prince Akira, here to see his family. And this is my partner, the Blue Paladin of Voltron.”

“Apologies, sire,” the guard bows, his sword pressed across his chest as he ducks his head. Lifting his body, he gestures down the hall. “I am not allowed to leave my post, but I will call someone for you.”

Less than a minute later, they spot Ulaz rounding the corner, his tall frame shadowing everything in his path. “I’m so glad you were able to come, young Prince, follow me.”

Keith follows without hesitation, though his hand does reach behind and immediately he feels warm fingers trailing across his gloved palm before grasping it tightly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches the brief tilt of Lance’s lips, a comforting smile. It takes him a while to realize that with his thumb, Lance has been writing out words on the back of his hand.

_ ‘It’ll be ok,’ _ Lance spells out over and over again. 

Keith doesn’t answer back with words, but he hopes the way his hand tightens around Lance’s is enough of a response. The weird mood Lance had been shadowed in earlier seems to have disappeared, but before Keith can ponder on it any further, Ulaz’s voice brings him out of his own mind.

“We did what you asked,” the Galra begins, “We got her off that planet, just in time too. She gave us a hard time though. You could have warned us that she was stubborn.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Keith cracks a smile. 

Ulaz, not understanding Earthen humor, simply shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “It took us a while for her to actually trust us, but we got there.”   

Keith nods. “Thank you by the way. It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, but I would never deny any request you make, young Prince.”

An embarrassed blush pops up on Keith’s purple skin as Lance unhelpfully chuckles beside him, his free hand shielding his mouth, but it is easy to see the action reflected in his eyes. “P-please that’s not necessary. Feel free to say no to anything I say. I’m--I’m not…”

“A prince, royalty?” Ulaz raises a thick white eyebrow. “I’m afraid you are, and you’ll have to get used to it.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance pipes in, bumping his shoulder into Keith, “I’ll make sure you don’t fuck up.” 

Keith has to bite back a barking laugh. “That’ll be very appreciated.”

Finally, when they come to the hall devoted to living quarters, Keith almost gets whiplash when the doors open to a rather small, but comfortable, room filled with two cots and two people that he has longed to see. Talia barrels into their legs the second they enter, and automatically, Lance lifts her up, hugging her to his chest. One hand wraps around her waist while the other muses her hair. Sandra is more casual with her greeting, slowly walking up to them with a soft smile.

“Nice to see you two again,” she says at last. Keith can’t stop himself as he finds his body moving without command and rushing closer to Sandra, his hands immediately wrapping around her frame. Reciprocating the action, Sandra’s hands lay on his back, providing the familia warmth he’s been missing his whole life. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Keith mumbles before reluctantly breaking apart. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Lance sitting on the ground with Talia in his lap, giving Keith the space he needs to get caught up. 

Sandra and he walk towards one of the cots to find a comfortable place to talk--though the mattress is almost as hard as the ground, but Keith should have known that the Blade prioritizes functionality over comfort. “Was everything alright once you left?” she asks, worry clear in her orange eyes as she fusses with his frizzy hair. 

As if a flood gate has opened, Keith finds himself telling her everything, every detail, and it feels good. Finally someone other than Lance will know the whole truth about him. His muscles loosen slightly as if one of many burdens has disappeared.  

“We got captured by Zarkon, but we escaped. That experience had been...  _ enlightening _ .” His eyes subconsciously shift towards Lance, who cradles Talia in his arms chirping away about all their adventures. “And uh painful,” he adds softly as an afterthought. 

Sandra’s gaze remains on Keith, frowning, knowing nothing good could have come with being a prisoner of Zarkon. “Oh? And how can time spent with Zarkon be enlightening?”

“Let’s just say I now know who my father is,” he answers with a dry smile. 

Sandra’s jaw drops a fraction. But now Keith finds that he can’t look at her anymore, staring at his clasped hands and listening for Lance’s laughter instead of Sandra’s sharp intake of breath. “It all makes sense now,” she finally speaks, “Why Nari was so scared, why she needed to get away.” A hand suddenly lifts Keith’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Keith, I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”

“I had Lance with me; I’m no longer alone anymore.”

Sandra’s expression is filled with relief as her hand slides into his hair, pushing back his long bangs. “I’m glad, and, if I may ask, how are things with him?”

Though Keith finds his hands tensing as they rest on his thighs, knowing about all the pain Lance keeps hidden, a smile winds its way onto his face, and a faint blush stains his skin. “He’s perfect; it’s been perfect.”

Keith isn’t sure how long they remain with Sandra and Talia, chatting and sharing uplifting stories and pushing back all that stress and trauma to be dealt with later--if at all. Over the course of the visit, Talia has maneuvered herself into Keith’s lap, her eyes drooping every so often as she leans against Keith’s warm chest. It’s only when he spots her eyes completely closed and a brief, stifled yawn from Lance, that Keith realizes it’s time to head back. 

Everyone should be waking soon anyways. 

They leave with warm goodbyes on their lips once Ulaz comes back to escort them. Lance leans heavily on Keith, the sleeplessness he’s been experiencing lately taking over. This startles Keith. How many nights has Lance not been sleeping; how many signs has Keith been missing?  _ I need to remedy this _ , Keith vows silently to himself. 

As they walk out of the room, Keith forcing himself not to look back, he slides his hand into Lance’s, almost dreading returning to the castle. He doesn’t even realize that he has remained in his Galra state for the whole reunion until he feels gentle fingers slowly stroking his large, cat-like ears. When Lance notices that he has drawn Keith’s attention, he only smiles, never stopping his ministrations. 

Suddenly Keith’s ears twitch, catching the end of a brief conversation Sandra had been having with Ulaz. “Sometimes I feel like those boys would destroy the whole universe trying to reach each other.”

Keith can’t help but agree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! I can't promise a quick update for the next chapter, but I'm hoping that I can write it before school starts again in September.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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